


Pianissimo

by persephine



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Professors, Coercion, Dubious Consent, F/M, First Time, Grooming, Implied Igeyorhm/Lahabrea, Loss of Virginity, Underage Drinking, professor and student relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2020-11-27 02:07:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20940515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephine/pseuds/persephine
Summary: Professor Emet-Selch speaks in riddles.





	1. Chapter 1

Garlemald history might have proven more interesting if Aletheia hadn’t been eyeing her professor’s tie. It became her daily custom to stare at the patterns every morning - it was a dark blue with specks of purple today - to wake herself up. Of course, this was her excuse as she amassed interest in Professor Emet Selch as time went on, and things like his tie became secondary thoughts to other things. Other things such as the pulse on his neck as he swallowed after a long drawl of lecturing. Things like the white unknown fabric on his gloved hands as he reached for dark, heavy square frames that sat perfectly perched on his nose. Things like his amber-yellow eyes too resemblant of the cat she had at home, and the curve of his arched brows as he skimmed the room for his pupils’ attention. 

Things like that. 

There was a brief pause in his lecture as his long fingers flipped through pages of the heavy book on the podium. It gave Aletheia a chance to press her cheek against her palm and watch her professor’s lip curl upward in a smile as he skimmed through a passage he encountered. There was something obviously fascinating about Garlemald that her eccentric teacher felt compelled to, but the spark wasn’t there for her. So, she spent the long hours memorizing the perfect curves of his jaw, the natural smirk of his lips and the admittedly strange way he’d prance around the room as he lectured. Surely the fear of not passing the class might have made it to the forefront of her mind, but whatever consequences came from her lack of attention Aletheia would make up through self-study.

His announcement surprised her. He asked the lecture hall to put themselves in groups of no more than five. Usually Aletheia wouldn’t have been opposed to talking to her peers, but Professor Selch asked that they share the knowledge they had gathered in the readings from the night before - the ones that she had skipped. She looked down at her empty notebook and still-capped pen briefly before slipping them into her bag without a sound. She pardoned herself as she passed through the front of the three students off to the right of her, saying ‘excuse me’ as she did so. The ruckus in the room as the groups came together were enough distraction from her slipping out of class.

She threw one careful glance behind her to ensure no one was watching her. To her relief, no one had noticed, and then her heart stopped as her eyes passed through her professor’s. What she might have expected as a frown was a gentle smile. Even if it was genuine, Aletheia was looking at his eyes - eyes that nearly cut through the room right to her - and they spoke volumes of something she could not describe. He must’ve been used to this type of behavior by now, however old he might have been, and those sunken eyes of his bore into her for no particular reason. Tomorrow would come and he would surely forget that it was her that was skipping his class. 

In time, she’d learn what that hardened gaze would mean.

———

The next time Aletheia got a chance to gleam into that gaze was when she was caught mid chew of her lunch. Professor Selch made his presence apparent but it seemed as though no one in the room had noticed there was a professor amongst the sea of students. She quickly closed her mouth and made an attempt to look away from those eyes. 

“Mind if I join you?” he asked her in that dull, smooth voice of his.

Aletheia looked around to ensure it was she that he was talking to.

“I don’t think that’d be appropriate,” she admitted quietly. 

“But would you mind it, was the question,” he said, grin widening.

She waited for a moment, taken aback by where this conversation was going, and quickly shook her head. He pulled the chair from across, before soundlessly sitting down. Aletheia swallowed - such a gesture emphasized the curve of his bicep briefly, and the noise from the expected scrape against the floor never came likely because bore enough strength to lift it with ease. She blushed at the thought that he was not only gifted in brains, but brawn as well. 

He eyed the book that sat next to her lunch.

“An interest in aether, I presume?” he asked smoothly.

“Just brushing up on some of the concepts,” she nodded shyly.

“I take it you find the subject much more interesting than Garlean history,” he smirked, reaching for the book slowly, “You have an eye for the sciences, perhaps?”

Aletheia was on the fence of offending her professor, and the shimmer of panic across her face made him hold up his hands for a moment before he chuckled lowly.

“Please, I’m not one to mock my students’ preferences,” he said, leading her to think he might have been alluding to something else.

She felt a sigh of relief for a moment and nodded in agreement.

This sort of banter went on for half an hour, where Aletheia exchanged her  _ passion  _ for aetherial magic for nods and quiet glances. At some point, there was a brief period of quiet that made Aletheia shift nervously. She was not one to make conversation go, and she looked to her professor in hopes that he would carry it. That was a mistake.

“Aletheia, are you seeing anyone?” he asked quietly.

Out of fear that she might have been assuming his intentions, she shook her head immediately to answer his question. He took a moment to respond, flipping his fingers through the textbook she had shoved his way in response to his interest. Aletheia listened to the sounds the fast pages made like a deck of cards being shuffled, as if it echoed and were the only thing she could hear in the ambience of the cafe.

“Pity,” he finally said.

She was drawn, nearly seduced by his response and dying to know what he might have meant by it. 

“Indeed,” she replied aimlessly, her fingers grabbing the ends of her skirt and pulling them down forcefully, thighs brushing against one another to soothe the growing ache between there.

She felt a blush creep along her cheeks when she saw his lips twirl into a grin. It must’ve been quite obvious because he laughed lowly at her response. 

“Appearances aside, no  _ boy  _ would deserve your presence given your knack of knowledge,” he mused in explanation, “Boys your age can hardly keep up.”

Aletheia looked down for a moment, a feeling of shame rousing in her gut for some reason. He had just caught her skipping class, and yet he was complimenting her all the same. Perhaps he took pity on her, or something else entirely. She was not quite sure of the enigma that was Professor Emet Selch. Although, she couldn’t necessarily disagree with his statement - perhaps that would be the reason she did not fancy anyone.

“It’s not high on my list of priorities,” she mumbled, “I’m only barely of age.”

“Just so,” he chuckled, and Aletheia was surprised that he wasn’t deterred by her age.

Another part of his response had confused her - which part was he responding to anyway? 

“Professor Selch-“

“ _ Emet,” _ he pleaded, his tongue appearing briefly to lick his lower lip, “please.”

Aletheia didn’t dare practice his given name on her lips. The conversation had long surpassed amiable and allowable territory. What with Emet far in his late thirties and his student barely of age, she could’ve been his daughter for Hydaelyn’s sake. But she couldn’t deny that he was by far much more interesting than any peer she had interacted with in her first semester thus far - not to mention broodingly handsome. At the thought of his appearance, he ran his fingers through the white strand of his bangs briefly. 

“Professor,” she muttered weakly, disobeying his request.

His smirk widened and Emet stopped thumbing the textbook on the table. He pushed it towards her slowly, and waited for her to accept it back from him. Aletheia took his cue and began to reach for it, nearly jumping when she felt his fingers reach for hers. It could’ve only been an accident - except her hand was frozen over top the faux leather of her book, and he did not retract his fingers from hers. She felt her body seize when he brushed his gloved hands along the side of her hand, allowing her to confirm the sheepskin fabric of his gloves.

Her eyes became increasingly interested in his tie all of a sudden and how it might have looked tied around her wrists, or loosely hanging from his neck as she pulled on it. Emet had planted the ideas of indelicacy without even breathing a word of it. Aletheia swallowed, quickly pulling her book towards her to the edge of the table and clearing her throat in the process. 

“Perhaps,” Emet started, watching her like a predator as she stuffed her book into her bag and closing it with an audible snap, “you’ll ask me to indulge you in my knowledge as I did yours. History is not my only forte.”

It was so clearly an invitation, but her naivety got the best of her and - admittedly - the part that thoroughly appreciated transparency and forwardness.

“When?” 

Emet smiled broadly at her, clearly glad that she asked the question in favor of taking up his offer. Aletheia swallowed when he reached for his tie’s knot briefly, his long fingers dragging along the silk fabric much slower than necessary. He loosened it, giving her the hint that he was finished with lectures for the day.

“Whenever you may find yourself  _ aching _ for my company.”

It was insinuated in such an absurd way, that the word nearly concocted such a reaction within her body. Aletheia felt faint wondering what sort of game her professor was playing at, but he was quick in his farewell, pulling his chair back in a small motion and disappearing through the crowd. She indulged herself with another glance at his back, the crisp white shirt covered any semblance of muscle, but she knew if her hands were to reach for his shoulders, slide them down his arms and over his back, they would be there waiting for her touch.

———

The next time they had their encounter, Emet smirked and pressed his hand back against the spine of a book so that it slotted back into its place on the shelf. Aletheia was seconds too late from retreating into another aisle before her professor saw her, and she committed to allowing him to see her.

“We have to stop running into each other like this,” he teased lowly. 

Aletheia turned her head slightly at the comment, one she was more familiar with with peers her age. It made her wonder how young her professor actually was - or how adaptive. Emet watched her body sway slightly as she turned to the section of the shelf next to his, eyeing the titles until it neared the one still touching his fingers.

“Magitek?” she asked curiously, “And here I thought your interests lay only within history.”

Emet thought of her like a mouse - she certainly had the features of one. Large red eyes and small button nose with lush lips. Her face was rounder than many, but it certainly added to the charm of her youth. That would make him the cat, eyes widening at the mouse flicking its tail around the corner.

He didn’t say another word before pulling the book back out and handing it to her. Aletheia received it without a response, his fingers brushing over her knuckles carefully before she took it out of his hands. She immediately flipped it to the spine of which he had covered and read the author’s name.

“Yours truly,” he mused with a light chuckle.

Aletheia looked up at him now, not yet impressed, for professors were well renowned at her university for publishing many books, but she was certainly pleased. She wondered if it would’ve been past her boundaries to comment on his self obsession of reading his own writing. She decided against the idea regrettably.

“Your interests lay in the most boring material,” she said instead, the comment hardly any better than what she was thinking, “Anything else you’ve written that might pique my interest?”

She watched Emet’s lips turn upwards and widen into a grin, and Aletheia wondered if she should’ve resorted to her initial plan instead. 

“I might,” he replied slowly, “If you’re willing to indulge me in some of your other interests.”

She thought for a long moment, carding through the ones that were appropriate and then the ones that weren’t. Needless to say, this conversation had long passed friendly banter, and she would be the one to push it further. Aletheia had a place to, after all; he’d be the one in trouble. 

“Music,” she said plainly, but with a tinge of hope.

He stifled a snort before smirking wider.

“You flatter me, my dear,” he said softly.

Aletheia let the sound of the endearment roll around in her head for a moment, memorizing the cadence and depth of it from his chest for future use.

“Ravel? Satie? Heller?” she asked proddingly, taking his smile in.

“Yes, I know them well,” he confirmed, remembering those names as companions from his many lives before this, ushering the memories to the forefront of his mind briefly.

Aletheia perked up now, and it showed. Her red eyes glistened when she rattled off more names, watching Emet nod at each one. 

“Your history perplexes me to say the least,” she admitted in embarrassment, “Though it comes as no surprise if you’re a history expert.”

He certainly had lived in such rich history much more than the mere memorization of it. It wasn’t long before she asked her next question.

“Do you play?” she asked, barely hopeful.

“Just a little,” he lied, having played for hours to pass the time away.

It was the first time he had caught her off guard. She sighed softly, seemingly caught up in memories of her own, or of awe. Was it no longer common for her generation to dabble in the arts? 

“And what of you?” he asked curiously.

She flushed, snapping out of her slight daze.

“Up until recently, yes. University occupies most of my time now, but I miss it very much,” she said quietly.

“You have favorites, perhaps? The ones you listed off to me?” he gauged slowly.

He watched her twist her body so that she was parallel to the books. She craned her neck to look up at him from the side for a moment before looking forward at the spines before her. 

“Liszt,” she said shyly, “Cliche. I know.”

“A romantic then, are you?” he teased lightly.

“Hard not to be when music can be written to sound like  _ that,”  _ she mused thoughtfully.

“You are your own history buff,” he told her, “Certainly you dabble your interests in the unconventional topics, but it’s history all the same.”

Aletheia said nothing about his comment. There was a small silence between them before she turned back to him. 

“Do you play anymore, Professor?” she asked quietly. 

Emet smiled at her ruefully, conjuring up memories of his own lengthy history. Alas, this conversation was broaching dangerous territory, and as much as he thought about playing for her to placate her obvious wishes, it would do much more harm to him than much else. The air between them was so thick, it was likely no one paid any mind to them simply because it was so hard to see through the haze. 

Instead of answering her question, he let his mind wander. Surely she had been doing the same what with the way her eyes darted from his lips to his spectacles. It took a moment before she considered looking further to the pulse on his throat, and then to the two vacant buttonholes on his shirt. He laughed inwardly when he saw her swallow. Emet could’ve had her, surely, but he’d play this dangerous game of cat and mouse with his student a little longer. 

“Perhaps I’ll flatter myself to think you’ll indulge me further and listen to me play,” he said lowly, almost to the point of a desperate growl. 

She swallowed again, nodding slowly in her own desperation to look away from this gold eyes. Half-lidded, and so effortlessly seductive, they proved to be the most dangerous part of him yet.

Within seconds, her professor had disappeared out of the aisle.

———

The game came to an end. He extended an invitation to her to meet in one of the concert halls, which she accepted without hesitation. There was no “if you wish” or “please,” simply the demand of “meet me there.” She had no room to deny him, nor did she want to. The time he had usually allotted to office hours had been postponed for the following day, and he extended that demand to her swiftly after class - half surprised she had stayed for the entirety of his lecture. There was that drawl in his voice, after all.

She arrived promptly after class, pressing her full weight against the heavy doors to reveal an empty hall with an array of seats. Aletheia had never visited the place willingly, but it came as no surprise to her that the university could afford something so grandiose. Surely, the seats themselves could have been sewn with expensive velvet. But nothing compared to the way her pupils dilated at the sight of the piano on center stage.

The lighting was ethereal for one thing, but towering over it was Professor Emet-Selch. He had abandoned his usual maroon vest, but she knew the white dress shirt well. Aletheia swallowed at the reveal of his forearms, both sleeves folded neatly to the elbow, gloves still on his hands. The light that softened his features also hid his eyes from where she was standing - the single strand of white hair framing the curve of his angular jaw. She might have stared forever - painting the folds and creases of where his shirt his obvious muscles to memory - had he not turned to look towards the direction of the heavy door’s thud.

Aletheia had expected that charming grin, but he looked at her expectantly and in some form of desperation she was unfamiliar with. She picked up her pace quickly to the front of the stage, dropping off her bag on the floor. Climbing the set of steps off to the side, she met him on the stage. 

She let out her breath, realizing she had been holding it in, and revelled in the sound of it through the quiet echo of the concert hall. Emet wondered if she realized her arrival and acceptance of his invitation meant they were past the point of no return. He could’ve spelled out his intentions to her and Aletheia would still be none the wiser, perhaps. And so, he laced it with seductions where she might have understood more so - the language of romance that had died a long time ago. 

He wished there was a part of him that could continue their charade with no words, but time had made him otherwise. When there was no one to speak to, he spoke to himself. He wrote plenty and mastered everything with ease. But as such, he had to abandon prior trades to the past. Aletheia was certainly more familiar with said trades, understanding his plea for her to play without any words.

She reached out her hand, pointer finger to middle C and pressed it with familiarity and confidence. She blushed when she watched Emet pull the bench towards him, muscles rippling along his arm for a moment before leaving it. There was no other way to decipher his silence than to play for him. 

It was obvious he had experience, but for some reason, Aletheia felt at ease to play without judgment. For the briefest of moments, she forgot that he was Professor Emet-Selch, and she was his student. She played a piece from memory, slow and full bodied. Unbeknownst to her, he was watching her much more than he was listening. He had lifetimes of listening.

There was nothing spectacular about the piece because of that, but what made it sensual and foreboding was the way Aletheia’s body moved to the music. They were small gestures like the way she’d careen her neck, or how her hand would lift occasionally at the long fermatas. Regardless, nothing was too hyperbolized for Emet to draw conclusions of his own. It was simply scenery he had not yet seen from her. 

Aletheia never got to the end of the piece, leaving it hanging off through the echo of the pedal at the end of some passage. 

“Liszt,” he whispered quietly, requiring no confirmation from her.

She made it clear she wouldn’t play any more. Over her shoulder, he reached for the same middle C that she had. Aletheia held her breath for a second, and then exhaled. She couldn’t let her professor know there was any nervousness - she wanted to be taken seriously. 

Emet pulled his hand away after listening to the echo of the note, and sat right beside her. It was the closest they had ever been proximity-wise, the side of her body heating up as seconds passed. There was an obvious hitch in her breath when he reached to pull on the white gloves with his teeth, abandoning it on the top of the piano. She might have stifled a moan in her throat when he reached for the other in the same fashion. The slow seduction, and wordless trifling was proving too much - and then he removed his glasses. With how much light spread on the stage, she could’ve sworn there was no prescription in them, but she pushed the thought to the back of her mind. Aletheia couldn’t help but drink up the sight of her professor without glasses - and he immediately looked at least 10 years younger. He pushed away the strand of white, carding his hand through his hair some form of emphasis. She swallowed. 

There was a moment of quiet where Emet shuffled through all the music since the beginning of time to find the perfect solitary piece to play for her. In that time, he hoped she was not so naive that she would have missed his obvious intentions of having her. She had merely become of age, but it was obvious with one glance at her that she bore the soul of someone he knew once upon a time. A subtle spark within her that needed time to flicker, and he would be that friction she so desired. 

Emet’s intentions clearly included bedding her. It was all he could think about since laying eyes on her, but a part of him wished to protect her as much as he wanted to embrace her. The desire to encroach upon her volatile nature and succumb it to his own spread him thin for the last few months. And now, with her body pressed against his in the most innocent ways,  _ when he was so close,  _ was slowly undoing him one note at a time.

Perhaps it would be too soon to play her the piece he had first seduced her with. And as much as he was emboldened with flattery throughout the ages, he had no desire to show off his extensive repertoire. He played for her something that matched her own piece’s moments before. It was slow and harbored the same feeling of want and pining, and he conveyed it with smaller gestures and movements than hers. He had learned patience after all this time, and he decided to leave his seductive nature to when he was fully courting her.

Aletheia watched in his awe, drinking up the movements of his long fingers. Come to think of it, she had never seen his hands without gloves before and she was mesmerized to say the least. Emet did not leave his piece hanging off like hers, instead, he ended it with obvious improvisation. He felt her body shift to the sound of new music, smiling in secret at her expertise in identifying it as such. Oh,  _ now _ he was flattered.

The piece ended, and Aletheia clapped quietly. When her hands dropped back to her lap, he turned to look at her. She did the same, but in her mind, she could only hope there was still that ounce of her innocence that he would consider. In three heartbeats, he could have pinned her on the lid of the heavy, expensive concert grand, and it would have mattered not whatever else happened afterwards. 

He was a shapeshifter, and he could make his disappearance so easily, wiping his existence from the university to start anew. But he had done it too many times before, and when he had finally found her, Emet swore to follow through with making her his again. That wasn’t to say it was painless, but sitting there now, centimeters away from her lips and her head tilted just perfectly angled towards her neck was fraying at his self restraint. 

He wondered if he could wait any longer when her pupils returned to normal, and then slipped into the beginnings of a panic. Aletheia’s bottom lip trembled for a moment before she opened her mouth to speak. He knew what she was going to say -  _ where am I? Who are you exactly?  _

The eons of waiting overcame him frantically, and his tongue darted between her lips before she could breathe the words he feared so much. For the first time, he tasted her and groaned inwardly at the amount of instruction he had to look forward to in the near future where he would bestow all of his years of yearning unto her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I made this too horny


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my lucifer is lonely

Aletheia arrived in class the next day with a dark turtleneck sweater. Occasionally, her hand was found pressed gently to the side of it - innocent enough that it was just a simple gesture forgone by most of her classmates (that, and hardly anyone paid attention to her as is.) She thought about the budded bruise under her clothes and let out a small sigh as she sat down.

It was a parting gift from Emet after he had thoroughly claimed her lips in the concert hall. He didn’t dare put his hands on her - perhaps that would’ve made everything too real - but he coaxed her into him with the seduction of his tongue, and it was obvious she was inexperienced. When she pulled away for air, his lips sought the exposed skin on her neck, pulling a gasp and cry altogether from her lips. He didn’t even have to try, and her head rolled to the side of her shoulder, allowing him to bruise her. He didn’t touch her, but she felt the nimbleness of his fingers caress her own, using gentle touches as his method of seduction. When he pulled away, she was trembling, and her hand flew to press on the wet spot on her neck. There was a warmth to it that she couldn’t describe, and flutters down in her stomach. Emet’s gaze was dark and troubled, brows knitted as if deep in thought. She read his face as regret. 

Aletheia swallowed wondering if she should have been less eager. He certainly bore a gaze that confused her, but with time, his eyes lowered and he kissed her one last time. A chaste and quick kiss goodbye. He slid the gloves off the piano stand and disappeared into the darkness behind the stage, leaving her there to ruminate on what had just happened.

It wasn’t like her to give chase. In the reflection of the piano, even warped, it was obvious that there was a bruise growing on her neck. She collected her things quickly and disappeared out the way she came. 

Emet arrived two minutes late to class, and Aletheia hadn’t been skipping class  _ that  _ often enough to know that was unusual for him. He was dressed as immaculately as always - a black vest and blazer to match. However, her point of interest - his tie - was missing, and where it usually sat tied in a perfect knot around his neck was his collar bones exposed and rendered viewable to the first few rows only. She swallowed when her ruby eyes caught a glimpse of the slightest discoloration on the side of his neck. It was hardly noticeable, and could easily have been a rash or something else entirely, but Aletheia felt something seize her heart and she felt her mind think of nothing else but obvious jealousy. 

She spent most of his lecture wondering who it could’ve been. It was most likely one of his colleagues, they were all so young and bubbly, any of them would have fit the mark. Her eyes screened the lecture hall for the first time since the start of the semester, registering a few of her classmates as possible candidates. She’d known the feeling well enough to understand that it was jealousy, but having had unremarkable feelings whatsoever in the past for anyone, it was difficult to pinpoint  _ why. _

Emet smirked to himself when he noticed she had been tapping her pen to some sort of unknown rhythm. He himself had caught up in trying to ascertain the piece in her mind, and half-heartedly participated in the material he was lecturing. There was a syncopated part of the piece where she’d tap aggressively on her likely empty notebook, and clasp her hand over her mouth. He prided himself on the thought that his class was too immersed in the lull of his voice to notice the loud tapping in the back of the classroom. On occasion, she’d stop to frown and knit her brows at nothing in particular, but it amused him thoroughly that she was bothered by something he had done. Probably.

\------

Aletheia spent the next day sulking. Two days out of the week she spent working in the student services building at school when she had a lighter load of classes save for one seminar at night. Once the semester took off and deadlines passed, students rarely came to the services building for anything other than appointments. Her days were slow, and instead of reading ahead as she usually would for her aether class, she thought to stare off in the distance. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it until a counselor cleared his throat and she bolted straight up in the swivel chair. At least she wasn’t using her phone. 

She began practicing a piece on her knees with her right hand. There was something so poetic about  _ Un Sospiro _ , but Emet had played it for her that day in the concert hall and she couldn’t get the piece out of her head. She thought about the rolling notes so seamless and full-bodied on that piano that she couldn’t stop staring at his hands. They were perfect, not a single note missed, as if he had been practicing it forever.  _ A performance just for her _ , she daydreamed.  _ As if. _

He might have left his mark on her, and then let another leave one for him thirty minutes later. Maybe it hadn’t fully budded yet when he went to see her, slipping in five minutes to take a detour to one of his colleagues’ office. Aletheia let out a loud sigh before pushing the weight of her body on the rolling chair away from the edge of the desk. There hadn’t been a visitor for the last hour, and she slipped away for a few minutes to use the restroom. 

She pulled down her sweater over the length of her torso, nearly freezing and tripping over her feet when Professor Emet turned from the corner of the hallway. It didn’t take a split second for him to smirk at their encounter yet again,  _ as if all planned _ , but Aletheia kept herself poised. She allowed herself one glance at him, drinking up the sight of his handsome and chiseled face, and then quickly to the bruise on his neck to confirm that it was still there before turning away to stare and walk directly to her destination. 

She heard the smallest chuckle escape from his throat before she was pulled abruptly into a hallway. Aletheia betrayed herself, whimpering and gasping quietly the moment he put his hands on her. 

“Missed me that much?” he mused lowly, lips trailing near her hairline to her ear.

With all her strength, she pushed him away from her, surprised that he hit the wall directly behind him with a soft thud. He never stopped smirking and recomposed himself in front of her. Her face had said it all, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide at how bold he was to do this in a public setting. 

He let out a disgruntled sigh before slipping his fingers through his hair. 

“If I knew you’d be so prudent about all this from the beginning, I might have considered someone else,” he sighed briefly.

She couldn’t help but throw in a look of disgust and surprise, her expression asking him a wordless question.

“You think you’re just some prize to be won, am I wrong?” 

He waited for her to respond, eyeing her with his gold eyes keenly and unamused now. She opened her mouth to say something, but grasped nervously at the end of her sweater and pulled it down over her skirt. 

“Am I not?” she seethed quietly.

He sighed again, that perfect posture lost as he leaned his back into the wall behind him. For the first time, Aletheia realized there was something more to this man than meets the eye. His eyes were less focused now, as if bored from existence. The dark circles underneath them let her know that he was certainly losing sleep over something. 

“Fine then, you want me to say it?” he roused, lips curling upwards with every word, “I find it just as unbelievable as you that I’d be so interested.” 

“And I’m to take that as a compliment?” she shot back, “I may be half your age-”

“Ohh, save it,” he sighed exasperatedly, “That’s hardly a factor to any of this, both you and I know it. Save me that lecture,  _ please.” _

She felt her lower lip tremble slightly at how different he had suddenly become, but stood her ground. 

“If you were expecting soft and gentle, then I pity you. To know half the things you know, and hardly anything about courtship, you disappoint me,” he continued slowly, reading in the anger in her eyes with each word he said, “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You are a romantic, are you not?” 

Aletheia felt him tearing down all of the things she read about in fairy tales, not that she ever believed in them, but to have it all cast down with only a few words was jarring all the same. As much as she wanted to let him take all that she was just to prove a point, she knew it was just as much a part of the game than the other game he was playing it - slow and steady seduction. Walking away might have been the best thing to do, and yet, she so desperately wanted to know what it  _ tasted _ like. 

“I am,” she admitted it, holding back the tremble in her voice. 

She watched him sigh again, looking down as he chuckled lowly. 

“Fascinating,” he mused, “Like a moth to a flame.” 

“If you think I’m the former,  _ I pity you,” _ she scoffed. 

“Ah, there’s that spark I was looking for. Brilliant. As much as I’d love to stand here in this hallway with you all day and rip each other apart with words, I’d say we both have better things to do,” he smiled ruefully.

She counted down in her head before she turned to dart away from him, hoping he’d never find her again.

“There will come a time when you’ll seek me out again. This we both know,” he roused, “It shows in the care you’re putting on that mark I gave you. I’ll see you again before the week is over. Until then.”

The lengths of her hair lashed at her face when she turned to look at him in anger, but he was gone. It was as if he had simply disappeared into thin air. 

———

Just as Emet-Selch promised, he made his appearance to her the last day of classes for the week. He showed little remorse for their encounter in the hallway earlier that week, smiling ruefully at her just as he did so that day. 

“Have dinner with me,” he said lowly.

Aletheia swallowed, glancing from side to side either to confirm no one was listening or that he was actually talking to her. After that, she looked down at what she was wearing. A white ruffled sleeveless dress that went right above her knees, a cardigan too big for her, and a pair of boots with a low heel. It wasn’t too bad for datewear, but she certainly looked her age next to her professor. She shook her head.

His smile widened at whatever insecurity she held at the time. 

“Do you need time to change?” he suggested.

“It’s not that-“ she caught herself before she could continue.

What could she say?  _ I’m a virgin. I’ve never been with anyone. I’m your  _ student!  _ I’m half your age. _

“I’d offer you a ride back to your dorm, though I doubt that would be the best idea given all the glances we’d receive,” he said, tapping mindlessly on his lips, “We’ll do whatever you like,  _ however _ you like.”

Aletheia swallowed before glancing around again. She clutched her arm close to her before nodding. 

Like a moth to a flame indeed, and he’d burn her before giving her a way out.

———

She took her time walking back to her dorm, agreeing to meet Emet an hour since he had posed his question. She carded through her clothes in the closet, nothing remotely mature enough to turn prying eyes away from them. She opted to sift through her makeup drawer next, pulling out the darkest red lipstick she had before throwing it back in.

Something told her that Emet would paint that all over her lips before the night was over.

A few flicks of mascara and pats of eyeshadow and she sighed at her appearance. Her twisted her hair up, which she usually wore down, into a ponytail before pulling a few strands out of place for the slight disheveled look. A few seconds of staring at her appearance and she realized she looked more like a cheap date than anything else.

She grabbed the lipstick again.

———

Emet showed up promptly outside of her dorm, parked discreetly between two students’ cars. Aletheia cocked a brow, realizing what he meant when he said that they’d draw unwanted attention to them if he’d given her a ride. She shouldn’t have been surprised he had expensive tastes - he was published, took sabbaticals every other semester, amongst the other flashy glamours he’d adorn on occasion when he’d cut class early for guest professor appearances - the car should have been expected. 

Aletheia dumped everything out of her school bag, realized she had nothing remotely necessary for the date at all, or a purse to replace it and grabbed a light jacket instead. It’d be a place to put her necessities at the very least, even if it was informal. One final glance around the apartment, and she locked the door. 

She took her time descending the stairs, memorizing his plates in the event that he had plans to murder her.  _ Ah, even if he did, I'd have no way to relay them to anyone. _

Aletheia displayed herself to him, hands folded over one another. He made one motion with his hands that she interpreted implicitly as “come here.” She flushed, wondering if he meant the driver side or passenger side. She opted for the latter, opening the car door with great care. It was obvious that it belonged to him, but it did not look driven at all. In fact, it looked too new. 

She made no comment as she maneuvered into the car, sinking into the plush leather. Her head tilted to look at him with shy doe eyes, and then widened when his hand pressed to the back of her head and pulled her lips to his. The kiss was quick, but it nearly stole her breath away, rendering her dizzy as she remembered the last time he had done the same. 

He eyed her up and down now in the safety of his car, drinking up the sight of her exposed skin in the same dress she had worn earlier riding up her thighs. Her jacket sat in her lap, and then his gaze drew up to her bare arms, the collar of her dress too low to hide the bruise he had left her. She swallowed when his eyes finally noted her hair in a loose ponytail, all strands tucked behind her ear neatly. She donned a pair of dangle earrings that might have cost more than a shiny Allagan gold piece. 

Aletheia could tell he was finished discerning her from his pupil when he reached for her hand. She nearly jumped again, the warmth of his hand pulling hers to his lips. He brushed them briefly against her knuckles before looking up to meet her flushed face.

He muttered something in some foreign language she couldn’t recognize, but she could tell he was complimenting her appearance with the way his hooded eyes stared into her wide ones. 

“Translation,” she laughed nervously.

“You’re beautiful,” he told her, “Quite beautiful.”

———

Dinner was what she expected, and she had tuned her expectations quickly. She covered her nervousness the entire drive by asking Emet questions that were mostly meaningless. He humored her with answers that she couldn’t discern as truth or lie. When they arrived, he wordlessly handed over his keys to the valet and a square envelope. Aletheia didn’t try to discern what that could have meant, but it was most likely a hefty tip to ensure that the valet wouldn’t take his car for a ride on his own. He bowed briefly to Emet as he graciously accepted the envelope.

She heard him chuckle to himself when he pressed his hand to her back where the dress was exposed and she gasped. Suddenly, she wished she’d worn her hair down - at the very least she’d be able to hide the handsy affection he was showing her. 

There was velvet on the floor, and she blushed as she shamefully trudged over it in the same black boots she wore everyday to school. Everything about the experience was just as dizzying. Waiters and waitresses that addressed Emet by name, and attended to his glass of wine to ensure that it was never empty. One waitress giggled as she referred to him as professor, pouring him a drink overzealously. At the very least, it was a very good learning experience for Aletheia as she drank up the sight of adults interacting.

Just for tonight, she’d be an adult too. As brazen as Emet was, he hadn’t pushed her to drink at the very least. By the third glass of wine they had made him sample, he placed his hand over his glass to indicate no more. 

He enticed her with stories that were too wild to be true, but she had no reason to not believe him. Aletheia was certainly glad to see the attention not on her - she was overwhelmed by the atmosphere as is. She picked at her food for the most part, but was polite enough to eat most of it. Luckily for her, the dishes were small and indicated that they were expensive given what she could decipher from the menu littered in ingredients she barely knew. The lack of pricing on the menu confirmed it. 

Emet finally turned to ask her a question.

“Am I wrong to assume you’ve declared your major in aether?” 

Aletheia swallowed her bite of food quickly before dabbing carefully at her lipstick.

“I don’t know yet,” she said quietly.

“What about music?” he prodded.

It was the first time in the night she nearly laughed. She saw Emet’s smile soften at her quiet laughter. Aletheia told him that it was mostly a hobby, and that there were a sad amount of jobs available to musicians, let alone pianists.

“What about history?” he teased lowly.

“Garlean history?” she laughed lightly, “How are my grades?”

He shrugged curiously at her, amused.

“There’s a charm to it, I’m sure. History is just memorization if you haven’t lived it,” she said thoughtfully, taking a sip out of her glass and wiping it away quickly of lipstick stains.

“I’m not  _ that  _ old, I assure you,” he mused in the half-truth, “You don’t think ancient beings like me teach history because we enjoy it, do you?”

Aletheia blushed - that was exactly what she thought.

“It’s for the capitulation of the world. How whole do you think the world would be if we lived to rewrite history as we see fit? Once upon a time, beings had no way to remember the past, and then they disappeared from existence, taking the past with them.”

Aletheia nodded slowly, her brows pressed together as she pondered what he could’ve meant by his words. She chalked it up to the wine. 

Dinner went by quickly it seemed, except she glanced down at her watch and realized that nearly three hours had slipped by without her realizing it. She grew antsy wondering when the check would come and if she could muster any courage to offer to pay for her portion of the expensive meal with her student pay. There was a brief lull as their dishes were being taken away where he eyed her yet again, drinking up the sight of her in the low lighting. Aletheia let him, taking in the handsome features of his face that she’d spend much of her time memorizing in class. Except now, he was for her eyes only. Nothing about the dinner had been too inappropriate save for the light jabs that could have been interpreted as flirting - except now. 

She might have been innocent, but the deep set of his eyes and the way they nearly bore into her soul were nothing in comparison to all the times he’d stared at her. 

The check never came, and Emet quickly moved to her side of the table and offered her his hand. She took it, not that she needed to, and they left the restaurant with all the waitstaff bowing. 

The air outside was crisp and reminded her that winter was upon them. He reached for the back of her neck as he waited for his car. He felt her flinch slightly, mouth trembling slightly to hold back a whimper. He was thoroughly amused.

“You certainly do not make for a boring dinner date,” he told her, lips centimeters away from hers as she craned her neck up to look at him.

His fingers roamed to the bruise on her neck where he had marked her, and then brushed down her neck. Save for the kisses in the concert hall and in the car, Emet had been thoroughly conservative with his affections. Somewhere deep down, Aletheia was just as grateful for it as she was hoping there would be more.

“What convincing do you need from me to make you come home with me?” 

He was forward now.

“Nothing,” she replied breathlessly.

He smiled at her, pleased. 

“There’s bound to be  _ something,” _ he prodded, his lips ghosting over hers, “Anything. You know I can provide it.”

“Can you?” she asked bravely, her voice a bare whisper with how far she had to crane her head to look at him, “What if you can’t?”

“Then you underestimate me, my dear.”

The harsh lights from the side indicated that valet had arrived with his car.

“Tell me it’s a yes,” he said lowly.

There was no way out. He’d never given her one to begin with. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments! I really like receiving them, and they brighten my day. I suspect the next chapter will be -smutty-.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you'll love me at once the way you did once upon a dream

Emet indulged himself in one kiss when they entered the car. There was a hint of sweetness to it, but Aletheia imagined this is what wine might have tasted like. He sighed into her mouth, most likely drunk off of the taste of her than anything else, and a hand to the side of her neck, then to the back to pull her closer towards him. Even so, the middle compartment had kept their bodies from being full pressed together, and it was clear he grew frustrated at the distance with time before he pushed himself off of her. Just as she had surmised, he smirked at the smear of red on her lips, and she needn’t look for a mirror to confirm - red graced his lips. 

He leaned in close again, making it obvious that he wanted to continue when his eyes gleamed over her white dress in realization, and he pulled away. She heard him laugh lowly at her disappointed whimpering, and he pressed his hand to the inside of her thigh.

“Worry not, there will be plenty of time for that,” he mused, turning his attention to the car.

She didn’t dare ask for further clarification. It was obvious what he meant, and she deliberated as such for the entirety of the car ride to who knows where - his fingers dancing on her thigh, gentle for the last time.

When they had arrived, Aletheia confirmed her suspicions that there was so much more to her professor than she could ever presume. She was dizzy from the possibilities, but she followed him inside all the same. The place was ancient, an estate she couldn’t have even imagined constructed of material she could hardly recognize. There was an obvious foreboding nature to it, but it mesmerized her still. It was as if he had constructed it himself, but she had no proof of that. Somehow, she simply had this inkling that he would tell her everything in due time, but she couldn’t rely on that. 

And yet, where she should have been afraid, she found herself calmer than ever. It felt as though she was supposed to be here. The heavy doors at the entryway for massive, the size of the entire home, and she nearly jumped when they opened without instruction. Aletheia didn’t even try to put into words what the inside looked like - there were no words befitting such a place. Naturally, her eyes drew to the piano visible in the far corner. Besides that, and the tall bookshelves near it, the place seemed vacant. A long dining table sat on the other side of the room with only one seat. Papers which she regarded as classwork were piled up where the chair was. It was obvious he lived alone.

Her eyes drank in the sight of the spiral staircase that led upwards for two flights. If he slept, his room was likely up there. The doors pressed closed with a thud and no squeaks, and Aletheia turned to look at Emet. There was regret written all over his face, a sadness she couldn’t begin to describe much like this ancient place. For some reason, it wrenched her heart and she wanted to hold him close. 

“Are you all right?” she asked worriedly, fingers reaching for his before deciding against it.

“It’s been a very long time since I’ve had a guest in my home,” he murmured quietly.

“It’s lovely,” she said, swallowing.

“You needn’t lie,” he laughed bitterly, “It’s so obviously drab and depressing.”

Aletheia didn’t feel that way at all, but she didn’t try to press further to convince him otherwise. He called her a “guest” and so she invited herself over to the piano. Typical. She didn’t need to confirm it, she need only to feel his eyes bore into the back of her to know that he was watching her every move. He was either sorely disappointed or he had extreme expectations of her. 

It was obvious that there was great care put into the maintenance of the piano, and it was nearly as spectacular as the concert grand, but more robust and aged. She pressed one of the keys, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up as the sound traveled upwards. It was emotionally racking, almost, and she stepped away from it entirely. 

Within moments, Emet had made his way to the piano, sliding the bench out and sat right in the middle of it. There was no invitation for anyone else - a bench made for one - and it further confirmed his loneliness. He played for her as he did the day in the concert hall. It only took a few notes for Aletheia to realize it was Liebestraum. 

It seemed he intended to play the entirety of it for her unlike the other day. They had all the time in the world, after all, and though the clock said otherwise, Aletheia somehow felt the former was more true. She hadn’t realized she had been crying until a single tear fell onto the marble floor. She quickly wiped away the rest that followed, though the streaks were obvious given Emet’s expression when he turned to look at her.

There were no words to describe his performance, so she hesitantly reached for his face to press her lips to his shyly. It was all she could do, all she knew how to do - but she mimicked what he had shown her previously albeit with trembles and unsureness. When he turned rough, holding her arm in place and capturing her tongue, she started to shake in fear. Even though she stood and he sat it was obvious who had the higher ground given his height, and she had no way of fighting it.

To her relief, he pulled away, but not for long. He led her to the chaise by the bookshelves and pressed her down onto it, his hand on the top of her thigh and sliding under her dress. Aletheia had long convinced herself that the night would end up this way, but she still trembled beneath him and he noticed.

“A thousand lifetimes over,” he muttered curiously, “Thousands upon thousands, over and over again… and now I’ve found you.”

He pulled her forward, her back arching where his hand rested on the back of her waist, and his other hand pulling at the zipper on the back of her dress. He stopped midway, watching the fabric curl inwards ever so slightly to reveal more of her skin.

“Are you going to deny me?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly, “I’m afraid, isn’t it obvious?”

“You’re untouched, that’s what’s obvious,” he mused, “Surrender, and I will expect obedience.”

She responded too slow and the rest of her zipper joined at the bottom, allowing him to bunch the dress to her hips. Aletheia yelped when he caught both her wrists with one hand and held it high above her head. He dropped her back onto the chaise to quickly find the fading bruise on her neck, sighing quietly at the ease of it, and sank his teeth into her neck. Her hips buckled beneath him and she opened her mouth to moan openly, her voice traveling high up above. Emet seemed pleased by this, mirroring her moan lowly while he sucked her skin.

“As wretched as I may be,” he choked, “and as much as it tries my patience, you’re allowed to make your choice.”

Aletheia tried to pull from his words what he meant, but even in its obviousness, she wanted to hear him say it. She hid her face in her arm, hands still held above her head.

“I’m simply wrapping my mind around the idea,” she promised him, “I just… have been told…”

She trailed off, blushing wildly now at how idiotic the concept was, but she said it anyways.

“I was told you do it for love.”

He looked at her wordlessly, and she turned to look at him with embarrassment written all over her face, her bottom lip trembling for a moment before she bit down on it to keep still. 

“You can pretend,” he told her simply, “Pretend you love me, and I you.”

In her mind, she could hardly understand what love was to apply it to this concept. It became a muddled mess in her head.

“Ah,” he sighed as he released her hands, “Perhaps I’d best show you such mummery. A demonstration. Is that what you want?”

“A demonstration of love?” she thought the idea to be ridiculous, “And then… what?”

“You follow my lead,” he said nonchalantly.

He’d simulate love to extract her innocence from her, certainly not how she anticipated giving up her virginity. But Aletheia understood the construct itself to be worthless, and so she nodded mostly out of curiosity. He sighed as if inconvenienced, and then yanked her forward to him off the chaise. Emet reached for the collar of his shirt, revealing the reminder of the almost-faded love bite on his neck. Aletheia stuffed down the ounce of jealousy she had to continue watching him, quickly slipping the armholes of her dress back into place. He had long abandoned his blazer from earlier, but watching him undo his tie had her mesmerized. His fingers seemed to pull at it so exquisitely, and just as she was expecting him to throw the fabric onto the couch, he wrapped it around one of his wrists and pulled her with him up the flights of stairs.

Aletheia had seconds to idolize the sight of his nearly empty bedroom before he pulled her dress up her body and pushed her onto the bed. He climbed over her with ease, grabbing her arms again when she tried to move away from him. Unwinding the tie from his arm, he made it obvious that the obedience he was expecting would come whether she liked it or not. As if expecting that he’d somehow bound her to him or something else, he smirked.

“That’s not part of it,” he grinned in amusement, “The simulation.”

She found his description of it all to be astounding, though she couldn’t be hurt - that was what it was. He’d simulate love for her in order to steal her virginity. It wasn’t like she was unwilling to give it up, though she certainly didn’t feel like she had a choice. She watched him unbutton his shirt while he drank up the sight of her exposed skin, and then to the white laced bra she wore. 

“Ready?” he asked.

She shook her head no. 

“I thought so,” he laughed, thoroughly amused.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, his hand trailing down her neck and then to the middle of her chest. She gasped quietly when his fingers drew patterns over her breasts and then down her stomach to the apex of her panties. When his eyes opened again, heavily lidded and gold, Aletheia let out the softest moan.

“I’ve loved you since the beginning, couldn’t you tell?” he asked her, prompting her eyes to widen, “Even as we hid behind our masks, it was obvious you were different.”

She blinked twice before suspecting that this was the pretense he had meant. Still, she drank up his honeyed words and let him convince her in the moment that he loved her.

“I was falling in love with you so quickly, only to realize I have always been,” he lied, his fingers tugging at the straps of her bra, “Even when you belonged to another, I couldn’t bring myself to tear you away for that meant harm to the one I loved so dearly.”

“I-I don’t understand-“ The make believe of it all was too real. 

“Aletheia.”

The mention of her name sent electricity down her spine. He descended on her breasts, tugging away at the fabric as he went and captured one between his teeth. 

“Too real for you?” he chuckled lowly, “Or not enough?”

She could hardly answer, anxiety sprouting through her as she trembled beneath him, struggling with what to do with her body, where to put her hands. He gave her a choice, and yet, she felt like she couldn’t respond, couldn’t move. 

“You really are untouched,” he sighed against her skin, “but you know how to bring yourself pleasure?”

He felt a tremor in her body when he asked that, and he couldn’t help but laugh now. He pulled himself off of her, slipping her bralette back into place, covering whatever of his saliva was still there. In his mind, Emet rolled the idea of teaching her how to please him as an example for herself, and then to the possibility of grooming her to his own liking. Even with his treachery, a part of him wanted to play the gentleman he once was so many eons ago. He pulled up the hem of her dress to confirm a theory.

White.

“You certainly made a plan for it,” he replied, thoroughly amused as he ran a finger down her panty line, “You may speak you know, you haven’t properly surrendered yourself to me after all.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but the most broken gasp escaped her. Emet tilted his head, brow raised in expectancy. 

What could she even say? I want you to love me. Did she really? I want you to love me before you take everything from me. Was that more accurate? If you were to steal all I have to offer, I’d want you to love me. 

Before she could consider voicing these concerns, he rolled off of her and laid against one of the pillows on the bed to prop himself up. Her eyes followed him, shaking at the thought of what he might have planned. He made one motion at her with his hands, signifying that she’d crawl over to him, and she did as instructed. In one swift motion, she was in his lap and his fingers tugged up the skirts of her dress once more. 

“I’ll only show you once,” he murmured, breath hot against her ear, and then his fingers dipped into her panties. 

Aletheia tossed her head back, the lengths of her hair pressed against his chest as she held in her breath. It was not long before she realized it was her first time experiencing intimacy, let alone sexual reprieve. His fingers had found her labia with ease, brushing against her expertly while she bucked either into his hand or against his chest. The broken moan in her throat told him all he needed to know - her body wanted more, and she didn’t know why. 

“You do know what this means, don’t you, my dear?” he asked her lowly, “It is but a taste of what is yet to come. Oh? I wouldn’t resist, if I were you.”

She squirmed at his words, as if she had anywhere to go being trapped between his legs and his fingers. She swore she could feel his smirk against her skin before he slipped a finger into her, earning a sound he had yet to hear, and he elicited the same - a wanton groan that he could no longer control. He spoke again in that language she couldn’t understand, fingers alternating from rubbing her clit or slicked inside of her, nothing enough to bring her close to the edge even if she wanted it. She didn’t know of that quite yet.

“Ask for more. Beg me for more,” he demanded her.

“... Please,” she writhed beneath him, placating him with wrangled words, “More.”

He jerked her so that she was crushed against him, and his fingers began to move in and out of her at a quick pace, his teeth against her neck sucking on the mark he had given her days before. 

Only when she realized what he was doing did the pang of hidden jealousy arise again. She had yet to mark him as her own - could she even call him that? - and here he was, bringing her closer to an edge, to a heaven she didn’t even know of. Aletheia gripped his knee tightly, gasping quietly until she could no longer. Moans escaped her her, quiet at first, and then loud as her body nearly lifted off the bed. An indescribable sensation rumbled through her core, one full of heat and it made her climax before plateauing. Her body had betrayed her, rupturing in a series of small quakes while Emet relished in her afterglow.

“That’s only part of it,” he told her, “You’ll have to earn the rest.”

Of course there would be more. There always was. Aletheia craned her neck tiredly to look up at him, recognizing his expression as both encompassed by lust similar to her own, and a tinge of sadness. That orgasm had awakened something within her, and she wanted to bring him to that same edge, that same vulnerability that she had experienced. She didn’t know how those words would reach, or if they’d have the same effect, and so she chose to stay silent. 

She climbed off of him to face him directly, eyes glazed over in determination. Through the half-buttoned dress shirt, she saw the bruise on his neck from class. There was no reason for her to be jealous, a feeling plagued by insecurities, of entitlement. But in that moment, she pressed him hard against the headboard of the bed and nipped at his neck opposite where the mark was, claiming him for herself as if she were the first. Even through her embarrassment from his low chuckles, she kept at it, biting him where she saw fit and relishing in that moment of jealousy.

When she pulled away, he claimed her lips hard. The motion caught her off guard, and he used it to press her into the bed.

None of your business.

That’s what she was afraid he’d say, she realized. In no way did he indulge her past the mysteries that he had told her - ones when he sat across from her, when he sat next to her - there was no reason for her to know. But she let it slip anyways.

“Did I do it better than she did?” she asked fearfully, her hands reaching for her chest as if to hide all her vulnerabilities. 

His lips turned upwards in a half smile. Of course he didn’t answer, only answering with his lips against hers again. He’d break her heart for certain at this rate. All the stupid and naive things she was taught about love through the stories in her fantasy books, none of them even got close to preparing her for this. 

Where Emet was once wordy and full of prose, he now neglected in his answers. His fingers reached for her hair, dark brown strands slipping through them as he raised the lengths to his lips as if remembering something. Remembering someone.

Suddenly, sleep racked her body. Her eyes grew unbelievably heavy and the edges of his body blurred. The bed beneath her nearly melted into her and she was happy to accept it. As she slept, Emet-Selch sighed. His heart was heavy as he thought once more about her last question to him. What could even come close as an answer? 

After all, how could he tell her that the mark on his neck was one she had left him so long ago when time and space had no bounds? When he loved her, and she loved him too.


	4. Chapter 4

Emet sent her dreams of Amaurot - his soul weighing heavier the longer he waited to reveal who he was. In the end, everything came at a cost, and his heart wrenched a thousand lives over as he felt her hand slip from his again and again. He didn’t dare watch her sleep - afraid that watching her would garner a glimmer of hope that she _ would _remember. And so, he constructed Amaurot in her dreams, weaving aether between his fingers, manipulating the imagery that reached her now. They were sweet dreams - nothing like the burning flames of their final days - at least not yet.

A twinkle of keys woke her from her slumber when morning came. Aletheia felt strange, but oddly well-rested given the fantastical dream she had. When she sat up on the bed, hair in disarray and her clothes fastened to her body the way she had adorned it, she remembered where she was. 

There was a pause in the music long enough to allow her to slip out of the warm bed and regain her bearings. The twinkle of notes came again - a melody so simple with no accompaniment that made her wonder if it was truly her professor playing it. It was nothing like she had ever heard before - improvisation? The melody seemed to repeat itself like background music. 

Even as she walked down the stairs, the music did not stop. Strange, she thought, it sounded exactly like something I’ve once heard.

When he stopped, she was equally surprised to see that she had caught him off guard. She had always regarded her Professor with a rather odd face, an even odder expression, but in the moment that he realized she snuck up on him, his brows gave some semblance of a reaction. It was almost as if he was worried she had caught him in an act of some sort. The expression turned neutral again very quickly, and he teetered on appearing inconvenienced.

“You slept well,” he noted, choosing her words for her.

“And you haven’t,” she returned in equal snark.

“Mmm, concerned about me, are you? I got plenty of rest, I assure you,” he told her, looking back to the keys and sighing quietly to himself from either boredom or inconvenience, “Ready to return home, then?”

When she didn’t reply, his fingers caught the ends of her hair. She stood right beside him, but he looked at the strands thoughtfully as if reading them as her face. He really was a strange one, she thought.

“Or would you prefer something else?” he alluded.

“As if I have a choice in this matter at all,” she nearly had to stifle a laugh, “Do I?” 

“What do you wish for me to say? I could easily send you away by accusing you of boring me.”

“Do I?” she asked softly.

“Do you… what?” he asked in return, grin widening, “So eager to please your professor, it seems. Or are you hiding something else entirely, I wonder?” 

“You’re the one who’s creating these games,” she pointed.

“And you’re playing so dutifully I could’ve sworn you were actually enjoying it,” he said callously, voice remarkably still as he went on and on waiting for her to relinquish her chance at a last word.

_ The things I’d do for this man to speak plainly for once. _

She had nothing to say, giving him the luxury of believing he was right. She did enjoy herself, and it was an experience she’d tuck away and retell with several fibs in between. There were many consequences that might follow explaining what had happened the night before, and Aletheia wasn’t so ego-struck as he was to boast about such a thing. Was it even inappropriate? Nothing even happened. Nothing of importance, anyway.

“I’ll have your answer,” he said as he stood, voice rising as he towered over her.

“Ask the question again,” she prompted, allowing his fingers to relinquish the ends of her hair in place of the back of her neck.

He showed her instead - and she had very much so hoped he would. His lips captured her own, but in the gentlest touch that it could’ve hardly registered as a kiss. It was just enough to send a wave of shocks through her jaw, and entice her craving. 

“Your answer, Ms. Scitus,” he growled quietly, “Lest I make your choice for you.”

She trembled beneath him when he called her that. She couldn’t lie - she wanted his lips along her neck again, gentle at first, and then wanton and uncontrollable. Aletheia might have been able to forgo those kisses, but his touches were unforgettable. He careened her body like it were his to command, and she followed the sways of his movements like a puppet hanging from strings. 

“Very well,” he chuckled lowly when she closed her eyes, craning her neck for him, “You’ve forfeited, it seems.”

His fingers reached for the apex of her thighs with ease given her short stature and his position on the bench, and in one quick motion his thumb had found the sensitive part of her sex and swiped up along it. Naturally, it caught her off guard, as did the gasp that escaped her lips as she bucked towards him. 

“Oh, you pretty young thing,” he mocked her, “All the dances I could have you doing, and you respond so to such an innocent gesture?” 

Emet pulled her to him now, nowhere to escape. 

“I have you wrapped around my finger,” he laughed, hands gripping her wherever he pleased, and exciting more gasps from her.

He continued this charade for some time, nipping at her neck or stealing her breath away with sudden kisses. All the while, his fingers danced along her skin or carded through the ends of her dark brown hair. Aletheia decided the best part of all this was when he’d give up a sound or two of his own. 

She found he’d do this whenever her body instinctively pressed against the front of his, or when she sighed into his lips ever so softly enough that the sounds of his groans traveled through her as well. All of it was so intoxicating —knowing not what any of meant, and that it could disappear in mere seconds. 

“Tell me you want me,” she finally braved, electricity pulsing through her arms down to her fingertips.

“Lie to you, you mean,” he roused.

She felt her heart sink at his words, but nodded all the same. If she kept her distance, it would save her the heartache in the end. But, she couldn’t fight the curiosity.

In the swirls of his mind, Emet knew it was true. He wanted her and it was undeniable. He never once fought it back in Amaurot and he wouldn’t fight it now. Even at the cusp of converging this soul of hers with the shards he had obtained over the millennia, he felt himself fighting to fall so deeply and passionately again for something that would soon dissipate. Needless to say, it was obvious Aletheia was _ her _—all the little ticks and gestures in between, he knew it was her. And, fool that he was, he was falling by the second all over again. 

He was certainly a masochist by now for sure. Even seeing the boundless souls of his lost brethren in the students he taught, not one of them rendered him with any emotion at all. They’d be rejoined, and that was that. But every time _ she _was reborn, his heart would flutter again. Even if he held off the years that she grew up, he certainly watched from afar to ensure no harm would ever come to her. 

And into the lion’s den she went. 

“I want you,” he whispered along her neck, trailing up to her ear, “I want you so desperately and so agonizingly, you might tear me into pieces before I do.”

She gave him a sweet sigh, the ones he liked so much, and tilted her head upwards. 

“Is that what you wanted to hear?” his voice rumbled close to her ear, “Let’s hear it.”

“Yes,” she gasped, “More.”

He turned to look down at her, lips caressing hers gently before he they traced her jaw.

“Riveting, isn’t it?” he ruminated in amusement, “It seems I’ve spoiled you too quickly. Greedy thing.”

She always had been. His Persephone, at least.

———

Emet behaved during the week. He wouldn’t risk the chance to steal kisses in between her classes, or even call on her as he had done before in lecture. He treated her as if she were invisible, but his heart was in a complicated place for good reason. This wasn’t the first time he had fallen in love with her. Truth be told, he had done so very messily the first time she had been reborn. 

He had run after her so desperately, shaking her at every chance for her to remember. He had wept at her forlornly, following her as she married another and lived her life to old age.

Even to this day, he had no idea how he was able to seal away her soul given that it was his first attempt. But he collected her the night before her death and sealed it away. If he was right, she would be reborn again and again, though he could never properly predict it.

Once he had figured that he could enchant them with promise of love and seduced them, the others fell into place quickly. It wasn’t long until he had caught the second, sealing away her soul when the child had fumbled into the water in an unfortunate drowning. He had wept then as well, tearing and ripping at the seams at the thought that he’d go restless and lonely for however long before she would be reborn again.

By the fifth and sixth time, he’d simply clutch her hands and watch her soul slip into his fingers with no reaction. Another eternity would come until the next birth, but it was nothing he wasn’t used to anymore. Emet Selch disappeared into the darkness until then.

At some point he had surely lost count. Unsure when his Persephone might be reborn again as he collected and harvested all her souls. Although, by the tenth rebirth, he noticed something different. The soul of his beloved stirred with a less opaque color. It seemed as though she were fuller, and for the first time in forever, he saw the resemblance to Persephone from Amaurot. His Persephone. 

He had undeniably fell for her the hardest, wrapping her in between his claws and feasting on her mortality. He manipulated her life and ensured that she knew only of love for him. But that wasn’t enough. He wept again at her death, unsure when this chase would ever end. He sealed the tenth soul away all the same.

Aletheia would be the fourteenth, he decided. Who knew when this wretched misery of immortality would end, he sighed to himself. He had lost count a long time ago. He could no longer sense that anything he was doing would bring about the rejoining of her soul, nor did he wish to continue to try any longer.

At this point, perhaps he’d simply play the part of the architect to numb the heartache that lived on. Or perhaps he’d play with her heartstrings the way she had unknowingly tormented his for these thousands of years. Emet hadn’t quite decided.

The words on the screen of his computer started looking like a jumbled mess. Lengthy paragraphs and sentences with words too big for the student’s vocabulary was hardly a way to entice his grading. He wrapped up quickly before throwing his head back against the leather chair. He was tired - not the mortal fatigue that every young person complained about. 

He was exhausted. Every few hundred, sometimes a thousand, years would pass before he could see any progress towards his goal. Nothing weighed heavier than having to carry on this way. The worst of it all was that he was starting to forget the face of Persephone, the sound of her voice when she called out his name, or the chime of her laughter before she reached for his mask. He missed her, and he might never stop missing her. 

He saw much of Aletheia in her as she was in Amaurot. Long silver hair ending right at the middle of her back, deep red eyes - those were always the first things he had noticed - and the way her lips always seemed to tremble whenever she might dare to speak his name. This version of Persephone was ever so different, but when she spoke, when she made an attempt to say his name, he saw her again. 

Emet closed his eyes, wondering how long he could afford to sleep for. He no longer dreamt anymore, it seemed, and so sleep felt enticing in an inconvenient way. He thought about Persephone, how if he closed his eyes and lingered into Aletheia’s innocent touches, it might have been enough just to remember what it once was. 

_ Hades._

He heard her say it so often, almost within every sentence to ensure she was still with him. 

_ Hades. _

He’d grumble in the past, but what he wouldn’t give to reach for her hand so desperately now, hold her close to him to promise that he’d never leave her again. He’d embrace her over and over again just to know that she was his, and always would be. That desperation seeped through his wracked body, and he longed to touch her again, any form of her. 

_ Persephone. _

He felt her hands reach for his face, her red eyes fearful of making a mistake, and finally, her lips against his while he imagined Persephone, whole and his. 

_ Hades. _She seemed to say that over and over again when they were together. It never made him love his name so much until he heard her say it.

_ Persephone, I’ll be the one to complete you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah


	5. Chapter 5

Hades had to be delicate. He had to be careful with the situation. On one hand, the mortal shell meant little to nothing to him other than as a repository for his beloved’s soul. Yet on the other, she would be the last piece to rejoin his Persephone. Things were fragile, and if he were too reckless he would find her unwilling to bend and submit. It wasn’t that he needed her to, but it would make things so much simpler. 

That, and he was dangerously close to falling in love with her. He couldn’t stop himself from doing so the first time he had rejoined her - the lifetime when she belonged to another. But the ones after that were much less painful and much simpler. He had to admit that with his beloved so close to waking from her slumber, Hades was growing eager and impatient.

Thousands of years, and thousands of lifetimes later, one would expect his patience to have either worn thin or proven to be a foreign concept. Hades did not have the luxury to think about that. There would be centuries where he could not see the color of her at all, and he’d wait another few more hopeful and naive. Here she was finally, however many thousands of years later - the fourteenth piece. 

Hades sighed. Technology had whirred past his expectations. Magitek was nearly immaculate and required only little maintenance. The world, that it was, was perfect. Almost perfect. Aether was a romanticized concept and Aletheia had fallen into the trap of idolizing it. He taught Garlean history as if he were not the one who had conducted and conceptualized it. The irony of it all.

He stared out the tall window of the mezzanine aimlessly, eyes sunken and pessimistic as he thought about the last gasps from Aletheia’s throat before he sent her home. Even as she clutched onto the fabric of his shirt, and her body pressed firmly against his, he could see that the color of her soul was still dull. She had yet to render herself to him completely - another wrath of hers that continued to plague him.

He couldn’t tunnel now. Persephone is nearly finished.

———

Aletheia found her sleep the rest of the week to be miserable. Her bed was cold and the worst part of getting to class nowadays was the wind that cut across her cheeks and rustled her hair. No, the worst part was that Emet was missing from the lecture hall. It wasn’t rare for him to disappear here and then, but her heart yearned for more of the time they had spent together. Her cheeks were flushed, she knew, both from the cold and the thought alone. 

He’s a resource, she told herself. He was knowledgeable in history no doubt, and she so clearly needed the extra help. But her fingers drummed on her desk again as she thought about his fingers on the piano again. And then his fingers along the side of her neck before he pressed his lips to hers like he had done it a million times with however million of different women. 

_ The Pendants. _

The note rested dangerously under the crevice of her locker, just in plain view enough that the message could’ve been swept away by another. Aletheia pursed her lips as she read the perfect script on the scrap of paper. Within moments of her eyes resting on the “ink,” the letters withered away. Aether manipulation. She felt her heart palpitate at the thought of the power required to do such a thing. How was it even possible? 

She gravitated towards the Pendants as if no danger was posed there. Somehow, it called her, and she would answer it, though she would take her time. 

———

“You certainly took your time,” Emet mused with a half-grin when she arrived, “I was half-obliged to come find you myself.”

She expected that sort of greeting - he hardly seemed to be the type to accept tardiness. Aletheia opened her mouth to say something, but felt her body tremble ever so slightly. Wasn’t he supposed to be at a conference?

“Ah, yes. Of course,” he sighed slowly, “I flew back early, you’ll have to forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she told him frankly, “It would be unlike you to show up to lecture every now and then.”

He couldn’t help but smile now, reaching quickly for the small of her back so he could press his lips to her ear before he replied.

“It’s too early to be tempting me with that mouth of yours,” he growled quietly, “as much as I enjoy your eagerness to get a rise out of me.”

She had to laugh now - her? A rise out of him? 

A waitress sat them down at a table isolated from the rest of the customers - no surprise there - and with a simple gesture of his hand, pastries and tea were brought without further prompting. They were quiet until the first round had arrived, with Aletheia prodding about the conference with short questions that her professor could answer with “yes” or “no.” 

She had gotten to the end of her list of logistical ones before she felt tempted to ask her heart’s curiosities. 

“The note you left me,” she tried quietly, “Perhaps it’s much too precarious to be leaving things for me in such plain view.”

His tea was untouched, and he seemed to have no intention of drinking it. It had clearly gone cold.

“No, _ Ms. Scitus _, us meeting like this only a thousand yalms from campus - now, that’s precarious,” he told her with a broad smirk.

Aletheia looked away from him, her fingers reaching under the table to grasp at the crumpled up note with no writing on it. 

“I-“

“Quite a trick, isn’t it? There are hardly any of us left that can manipulate aether in that way. Surely you were paying attention,” he said, folding his arms to stare at her.

He was testing her now. Emet leaned forward across the length of the table and took a bite out of the macaron in her hand, eyes never leaving hers. Aletheia nearly jumped, but his words left her more in shock than anything else. He licked his lips, golden eyes glinting humorously. 

“I was,” she answered mechanically.

There was a silence between them where she sought the words to ask the next question properly, but the time had run out for that. Emet changed the topic with ease.

“I know better than to demand, so I’m requesting your company for tonight.”

She felt her heart flip flop either in anger or confusion. 

“What for?” she asked a bit too incredulously.

“They’re holding a post-conference celebration, occasion, whatever you wish to call it. You’ll be away from the prying eyes of your peers that I’ll actually be able to entertain you properly for once. Rest assured no one there will know who you are,” he explained. 

It was a request, he had said, not a demand. She could’ve said no, and it would do her good to object for the sake of the reading she had yet to catch up on. 

“What will entertaining me entail?” Her superego rolled its eyes at her. 

“Wouldn’t that spoil the surprise? I think you’d quite like it. You seem fairly vocal whenever you’re enjoying something,” he roused. 

“So it’s purely physical then?” she asked in return.

“All these questions,” he sighed airily, “No, it won’t be. Unless you would prefer that then we could just go straight to dessert.”

Aletheia blushed madly - there was no way she could’ve predicted his forwardness when it came to such matters, but a part of her was dangerously curious about this post-conference event. 

“Away from prying eyes,” she mused quietly, “Surely you could find a more suitable plus one for your event. I draw unnecessary attention with… my age.”

“Oh, you hardly look it,” he laughed, “Worry not, I will take care of it. No one would recognize you, I swear it.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but found that no objection would come. Curiosity got the best of her, and her desire to both impress and please led her right into his claws. He hadn’t extracted her innocence, but she grew more afraid and intoxicated by his mystery than ever before that she might have offered it to him without question.

Even so, the other half of her longed for some form of affection that he seemed to give her nonstop. He admitted to forging it before, but it felt too real - so real, like it was meant for her. 

“Say yes,” he pleaded softly - another tactic of his? “I’ll admit, our last time together being cut short was a fault of my own. I should’ve played more music for you, maybe told you some more things I could do with aether-“

“You mean to say…” her eyes widened in confusion, “That this is all because you couldn’t control yourself?”

“I was overeager. It’s a compliment. Take it.”

Her brows knitted together, and she didn’t know if she should’ve been pleased or disgusted. 

“What I mean to say is that as much as your physicality draws me in, I’m much more enticed by your psyche. If you wish for me to keep my distance from you the entirety of the night, I will oblige,” he promised, “Though, it would come at great pains to me to not be able to touch you.”

It was too late, she had already succumbed to him once and she was becoming his plaything. As much as she wanted to have some semblance of independence, she knew that she had no choice in the end. His words were like honey, smooth and entrapping her before she knew it was happening. 

Worse, he looked at her with such forlorn and lonely eyes, and there was a part of her that kept seeking answers from the gold within and they only showed her a reflection of herself. Aletheia hesitated for a moment before nodding softly. 

Emet leaned back in relief. His shoulders hunched back over and he reached for his phone. After a few moments, she felt a buzz erupt from her own device in her pocket. 

“That will have everything you need in it,” he told her, rising from his seat, “Don’t get lost and I will hopefully see you this evening.”

As he went to walk past her seat, he reached for her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles and then her palm, gentle and with the promise of more to come. 

“Trust me, I could’ve given you no choice at all, _ Persephone _,” he smiled with his eyes before disappearing behind her.

A new nickname perhaps, she thought. Ever the strange one. 

———

Aletheia wasn’t surprised that somehow, someway, Emet had plans to lead her through his itinerary. Their first stop was a designer clothing store - no surprise there. The luminous lights left her dizzy and overwhelmed, and she stood back for a moment to let her eyes adjust. Something told her that she would have to do a lot of adjusting for the night ahead.

She had plopped herself on one of the luxe lounges in the middle of the room while Emet greeted his frowning friend. Aletheia paid very little attention to their conversation before he made his way to her.

“I believe you are in my seat,” he muses with a wave of his hand.

She feels a gentle hand usher her towards the dressing rooms, allowing her to throw a scared glance in anyone’s direction. It was clear Emet was the one staging all of this, and he would be the last to help her.

A woman with dark blue hair styled in asymmetrical waves wordlessly took down her measurements, measuring tape working fast and wrapping around her frame without permission. Their eyes met once before Aletheia looked away shyly, catching the smallest smile on her face before she turned to a clothing rack. 

“It’s been a long time since he’s brought someone around,” she mentions casually.

Aletheia opened her mouth to say something, only to find that no words could properly satiate her curiosity. 

The woman returned, dresses of every dark shade in her arms. Aletheia found it easy to avoid her gaze, what with her towering height above her, but she did catch a glance at the tag resting on her breast - _ Igeyorhm. _

A very strange name, properly stranger than Emet Selch for sure. 

“He likes dark colors,” she says with an eye roll, “I think the light suits you much more. Ironic, I know. Ah…”

She saw the raise in Aletheia’s brow.

“I’ve said too much,” she says quietly, retreating behind a pair of tall white curtains, “Stay put.”

Everything was proving to both prod and retract Aletheia’s curiosities.

———

Emet seemingly agreed with the ensemble. Aletheia couldn’t help chewing on the bottom of her lip on every occasion that his hand had found the curve of her lower back. Velvet cording tied the entirety of the open back, and she saw the appeal of playing with the lines like a harp. She mused inwardly whenever his hand pulled away to grip another part of her - he particularly seemed to like her waist. She’s happy, relieved that the dress covered most of her body, but it certainly left much to be desired. That much was obvious with the way Emet would ruefully reach for her in the back of the car and be met with fabric rather than skin.

“Come here,” he demands. 

“There’s no space for me there,” she retorts with a half-smile.

“I’ll make space,” he frowns in return.

“That would be both dangerous and illegal,” she pointed out, pressing her legs invisibly together to calm the heat at her core.

“You know better than to deny me. Or, do you?” he says gruffly, and then smirks widely, “Have I not made myself clear, Aletheia? Come here.”

She inches close, but hardly enough to quell his request. He frowns even more so. She’s within arms reach, certainly, but he wishes to feel her skin - that much is obvious. 

“Why? So you can tear me out of Igeyorhm’s ensemble? After all her hard work?” she asks in a pitch higher than usual.

“It is much too early for you to be teasing me. Much,” he warns her, “And let us give credit where credit is due, shall we? You bear the burden of her hard work, and you’ll reap the consequences of it tonight.”

“Consequences? Are you to imply that it’s my fault I’m in this getup?” she scoffs, “And what happened to your promise of no touching?”

“Am I to understand that you’d prefer that, my dear? Would you really prefer that I leave you untouched only to phase you all the same with words? Oh, don’t look at me like that.” 

He’s noticed the blush across her face. Intentional or not, the dress had seemingly raised her desire to please now that she knew she was wearing something that enticed him. Even so, she was hidden so well that she thought it possible he wouldn’t notice. Hardly the case, she realizes, he can see right through her it seems. Her chest heaves up and down in a soft rhythm as she rolls his words in her head, the heat between her legs growing exponentially. 

Even dressed for the occasion with a dress length barely kissing the top of her knees was enough to spur him into a ball of uncontrollable fire. She watches him grin to himself as he leans himself against the window of the car, glancing forward to their driver for help she knows she won’t receive. 

“There would be consequences even if you weren’t in that dress,” he muses.

———

Emet proves his last words as much when he leads her inside their next stop. A marbled building far too luxurious for anything she could envision, and she waits with bated breath when he catches her arm outside on the steps leading up. For a moment, Aletheia was frantic - remembering the words in the car just moments ago when he had promised to placate his yearning with words alone if she had preferred it. He was rough, not particularly so, but she was much smaller than he was and the tug of her arm nearly made her lose her balance. He careened her against his chest with no trouble, holding her steady as she stabilized herself. 

“A moment before we enter,” he rouses.

He turns her to face away from him, and even though she’s on the step above him, it’s clear that he towers over her still. He’s gentle at first, strumming his gloved fingers along the ties on the back of the dress. 

“Fair warning, my dear. Lahabrea is not keen on your kind. He apparently only favors Igeyorhm, though that much is obvious,” he sighs, and then leans forward to brush his lips against a part of exposed skin.

She gasps lightly, learning quickly how sensitive she is - is it because of him? 

“I’m not worried,” she breathes, careful with her next words, “Compared to you, I’m sure he won’t be that hostile.”

He smirks against her skin, a low rumble erupting from his lips.

“I’m the least of your worries, my dear, that is, until we’re alone again.”

“And then what?” she sighs when his hands trace along her waist down to her hips, and then further, “What will happen then?”

“You really wish to know?” he tempts her, his hands brushing against the backs of her knees, “Does the unknown ache you overmuch?”

His words from earlier prove to be true over and over again.

“Ah, we’ll be late for your hair appointment if we dawdle much longer out here. Even worse,” he muses, his arms around her waist now to usher her in, “Someone might see us.”

Emet was right, as he always seemed to be. Lahabrea, a man with blonde tousled waves stared eagerly at the door until his eyes glanced in Emet’s direction. His eyes softened for a moment when he saw the dress on Aletheia, but only for a moment to recognize Igeyorhm’s handiwork. He gleaned one stare at her face before rolling his eyes.

“Now we are certain to stay on this mortal plane for all eternity,” he scoffs.

It wasn’t long before she found herself in a velvet chair, and Lahabrea’s hands around the ends of her hair, curling the brown strands with seemingly much care. He was quiet the entire time that he was styling her hair, grumbling something to Emet whenever he’d come closer. It wasn’t long before he took his seat against the mint wall behind her, arms folded in both amusement and annoyance. 

Whenever she’d chance a look in the mirror to glance at him, she’d find him already staring. The first time left her face burning, and then after that, she would mirror his hungry stares with knitted brows. Even so, Aletheia found the exchange riveting and only when Lahabrea scoffed out of nowhere did she look away once more, earning a quiet laugh from Emet behind her. As time went on, he seemed much less like her professor and much more like a forlorn romantic, vying for his pupil’s attention and affection with seemingly no answer in sight. 

“Emet Selch,” Lahabrea grumbles, “She’s finished, but not before I have a word with you.”

“Who would’ve thought?” he mused.

“Alone.”

Emet seemed to open his mouth to say something, but whatever jumbled words came out were of some ancient tongue Aletheia couldn’t recognize. The words made Lahabrea walk to the back of the salon wordlessly, arms folded the entire way.

It was obvious that Aletheia should stay put. But, with no one to tell her otherwise, she quietly slipped out of her seat and walked with the front of her feet, careful not to make noise with the stilettos on her heel. It would have been an easy feat for Emet to sense her, and so she didn’t know why she tried to hide her presence.

Behind a half-ajar door, she listened for a moment before a pang of guilt nestled in her stomach. She began to pull away, until -

“And what of the Rejoining? Or have you forgotten?” Lahabrea’s voice urged gently.

“One does not forget. One would _ never _forget,” Emet growls, “But prove to me that there is another with thirteen times rejoined that we might usher to our side.”

“Ha! Hardly a matter to be contested when you’ve put _ years _of work into securing your beloved vessel.”

“You really think I would have held an interest in rejoining someone I cared for less than Persephone?” 

_ Persephone? _

The name made her heart pound. The name she heard him call her earlier. _ Rejoining. Souls? _ Even if she made an attempt to put two and two together, none of it would have made sense. Aletheia took quiet steps back and then started proceeding as normal, approaching the door in front of her.

“Aletheia-“

She gave both of them enough time to open the door themselves, catching her and her blank stare. 

“You were gone for such a long time,” she lied, “I had to make sure you didn’t kill each other.”

Emet shrugs half-heartedly.

“That, I assure you, is not possible,” he laughs, “I was trying to convince him to invite Igeyorhm to accompany him to the gala.”

“Just so,” she nods, flashing a small smile in their direction, words from earlier buzzing in her head.

Emet’s brief with his goodbyes to Lahabrea, the man grumbling even more so as they went to leave finally. 

When they reach the car again, Emet reaches for her. 

“I mean what I said,” he tells her out of nowhere.

“What did you say?” she asks impatiently, catching the snap in her voice and surprising herself, “You’ve said so many things I can hardly keep up.”

He let her be for a moment, and then he reached for a curled strand of her hair. 

“I won’t touch you,” he promises, “Not unless you want me to. I know this event will prove overwhelming at first but you will seek me out if you cannot handle the crowd.”

“I will?” she prods with a lift in her brow, “Or will you?”

“I’m making an attempt to not be overbearing, but seeing that I will be the only one you know there, perhaps you ought to give me credit for caring about your comfort.”

“I…”

_ I’m not Persephone. I won’t be able to take her place, whoever she is. _

He walks closer, and when she grimaces, she knows she’s made it obvious. He reaches for the handle of the door instead, holding out a hand to gesture her inside. His aura had changed, and Emet made it obvious that he had no intentions to smother her with the uncontrollable desires from before.

Aletheia looks to him, indignant and shy.

“I don’t want you to stop touching me,” she admits, “I don’t want you to stop.”

He looks at her with remorse. His lips meet the strands of her hair and then the knuckles of her hand. 

“Is that a request or a demand?” he asks, lips hovering over hers where she can feel his breath on hers.

“I don’t know,” she replies softly, a quiet moan sitting in her throat, “I don’t know anything anymore it seems.”

“Think of it,” he tells her, “And perhaps the absence of my presence will help.”

“You intend to leave me alone?” she asks in a slight panic.

“Hm,” he chuckles, “Not to that pack of wolves, no. Although, perhaps we ought to make it obvious that you’re mine.”

“... Obvious, how?” 

His lips curl into a wicked smile, his eyes gleaming with want and mischief. For a moment, she feels curious of it all - why she’s here, why she allows herself to continue being here. And then his lips meet her neck and teeth graze the skin there more than enough to leave a clear, dark mark.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a long time. I got a 9-5 in the last few months that I’ve gone AWOL, along with the good ‘ol writer’s block. Let me know what you think.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A push in the right direction.

Aletheia turned her neck, fingers brushing along the love mark left on her skin. The heavy bathroom door made a soundless-noise, but in the corner of her eye, she saw another woman enter. She brushed her hair quickly over the bite to hide in embarrassment. It’s hardly anything worth noticing, she tells herself, but she finds herself staring at it longingly again once the woman’s chosen a stall to use. Lahabrea had styled her hair so carefully, waves tumbling down her back, and now she twisted all of it to the side of her neck to hide Emet’s mark. 

She clears her throat before returning to the gala. 

She expected something remarkable, perhaps windows lining the entirety of the place and crystal lights shimmering on the marble floor, but a part of her is relieved it’s otherwise. The gala is nothing short of stunning, but she finds that there’s something more calming about where she was than anything else. Once they had entered the supposed building, it became clear to her that it was something else entirely. There was a brief walk through what appeared to be a small foyer before it opened up into an open area, stars aglow above her, and dark, tall buildings too ominously lit from the inside to resemble anything she had ever seen before. Even so, Aletheia finds herself breathing a sigh of relief when she spots others around her. It wasn’t that she didn’t _ trust _ Emet, but there was something utterly so suffocating about his presence that she couldn’t trust _ herself _ to be alone with him. 

She regrets thinking this, her teeth biting gently into the bottom of her lip as she narrows her brows for a moment. If she felt such a way, why did she agree to come here with him? He truly gave her no choice, but she always had one. Her thoughts are lost, bouncing between two walls as she stares up into the endless sky, hoping an answer would come to her that way. 

In the end, she relents, hoping time with Emet would make those thoughts come further into fruition or abate the doubts away. 

She finds Emet with two flutes of champagne in between one hand, and he smirks widely when he realizes why she had been absent from his side. Her hand mechanically reaches for the ends of her hair, curling the waves between her pointer fingers as she waits for him to approach her, waltzing in a most luxurious way - like he was meant for this place, and she was the only stranger. Thankfully, his hands are full, and he hands her one of the glasses instead of reaching for her coy hands.

“It’s just for show,” he tells her when she eyes the liquid, “I don’t believe you’re quite of age for champagne just yet.”

“And I thought no one would recognize me here,” she mutters quietly, “So, does it matter?”

She sips from the glass, tossing the taste of the bubbly drink in between her tongue and deciding that it’s not awful. She sips it again, and after that white gloves reach for her wrist.

“That’s enough,” Emet says gruffly, “I don’t want you underestimating your capacity.”

She’s obedient at first, but a couple strolls past the both of them, throwing glances to Emet in greetings, and she chances a few more gulps. He has no ability to _ punish _ her here, and she fears little of the consequences that might come - she might even welcome it at this point. Another pair walks by and she’s finished with her glass.

He frowns at her, eyes in a lull, and she feels herself giddy at the thought of her free will being one of her vices. With dainty fingers, she reaches for his untouched glass and looks toward another strolling couple, this time, acknowledging their presence in hopes that they would return it. Caught in surprise, they meekly nodded their heads at her, having no recollection of her who she might be.

“Lovely couple,” she hums, downing half of his champagne.

“You have a penchant for such impish behavior, I’d mistake you for another person when we’re alone,” he grumbles quietly. 

“Are we ever alone? No matter where we go, there are always eyes on us,” she remarks softly, lips lingering on the glass a while longer. 

He reaches for her wrist, the soft leather of his gloves sending gooseflesh up her arm, and tips the glass upward so that he can have a taste before she finishes it off. 

“Pray tell, my dear,” he grins, his lips lingering where her lips were, “Is your desire _ not _ to rid me out of your sight, but to relish in it?” 

“I believe that depends on you,” she idles for a moment, “I hardly remember the last time we were _ alone.” _

“Yes, well.” 

She takes the glass from him, half the liquid gone, and places it on a white-clothed table along with other empty ones. Her face is no longer taut in a playful smile, but thoughtful.

“Surely there will be time for amends,” he reassures her.

She’s quiet, and it’s obvious he expects whole-hearted agreement if not dilated desire.

“Yet another reason to worry about you,” he eyes the glass on the table ruefully, “Don’t leave your glass unattended ever.”

Emet’s changed the topic, his hand brushing through the white in his hair briefly before pressing it along her back, and then up, tugging on the velvet for comfort it seemed. Emet was anxious, both in the way he seemed to grasp at her any chance he got, and with the way that he no longer paid any mind to familiar faces that walked by them.

He leads her through the long plaza, stairs far ahead in view. She clears her throat softly when she feels his fingers along the velvet strings of the corseted open-back, but he doesn’t stop. He pulls her toward him, slotted right against his hip even with her raised height, and they continue walking to some undecided destination.

“You didn’t think I’d notice that you’d hide that, did you?” He laughs quietly, nose brushing along her ear, “You’re mine, or have I not made that clear enough, Aletheia?”

“Am I?” She replies airily, inching away from him, “I don’t think you have made it clear.”

“Trust me when I say that that fire does nothing but ignite me further,” he grins, brows narrowing as he stares her down.

She hums, tousling his words in her mind. 

The clusters of people seemed to stay within groups, and Aletheia was thankful for this. Not many seemed to notice that she was there, even with her arm tucked between Emet’s. It was as if they were looking right through her and she didn’t exist. 

He led her through the plaza, pointing at whatever effervescent thing he could indulge her with. Even as she traversed the empty halls with Emet, she felt as though a part of her didn’t belong at all. She might have donned the clothing to match, but there was something so particular and strange about being here. The walls, for one, were much too tall. No architecture of any kind would have existed in modern day, and yet, this place didn’t seem so far from the university. Marble lined the floors, and with what little she knew of its costs, there was no way such grandioseness should have been allowed in a place as massive as this. 

Emet eventually interrupted the silence. 

“What do you think?” He asks.

“I could have never imagined that a place like this existed,” she said softly, “It’s much too… fantastic.”

“Fantastic,” he ruminates. 

“Like that of a fantasy, not… well, I suppose I might call it fantastic. I think it’s beautiful,” she says in awe, staring up at the tall ceiling of gold cracks, “What is this place used for?”

“Back in its day,” he starts to say, and then stops for a moment, “A myriad of things, I suppose. Now it’s mostly vacant save for galas like this.”

“And they’re supposed to be honoring your work?” She frowns, “No one seems to have-“

“That is the beauty of being an architect, isn’t it? Construct the world’s most magnificent things, dominions that unfurl into the most venerable, and most renowned of all, all to be hidden under the guise of a name,” he rambles for a moment.

“Aletheia, my dear, it’s what I love most about history. One never forgets what happens, should the world choose it, or lest, one person chooses it,” he tells her, a finger to enunciate his point. 

She thinks she understands, but he’s much too astute, and his words too pronounced for her to fully grasp what he could possibly be hinting at, she might have missed it all entirely.

“You mean to say that they’re not here for you. They’re here for what you’ve constructed,” she ends sheepishly. 

She hears a sigh escape from his lips, and there’s a part of her that’s frantic she’s said the wrong thing. But from what she can gather under the moonlight, his face is soft as he thinks, reminisces on something. For the first time since they began walking side by side, he pulls her flush against him, plucking the lengths of her hair to her back to reveal the mark he’d left. 

He presses his lips to hers, and she tastes the recognizable champagne from earlier. His kisses seem desperate, and yet his hands are only touching her lazily, like enjoying a too-decadent cake. She can hardly enjoy it at first, _ eyes always on them, _but it’s not long before she succumbs to the liquid inside her belly and the residue on his lips. 

“You’re much too smart for your own good,” he tells her, lips against hers, “I ought to applaud you, but it comes as no surprise to me. I’m glad you noticed.”

“Noticed…?”

“This place’s splendor,” he smiles softly, “I was once an architect in the distant past. This was my pride and joy.”

“You make it sound like you’re ancient,” she giggles, “And now you teach history.”

“That I do,” he hums, “Aletheia, does this place seem familiar to you? Like you might have seen it once before?”

“Perhaps in a dream,” she shrugs, her hands reaching for his shyly, “I don’t think I’ve seen enough of the world to imagine a place like this might exist. Although, it seems very much like something you would design. Is that what you want to hear?”

He laughs quietly, kissing her again. 

Aletheia’s heart seemed to buzz as he continued kissing her. This was nothing like their first time together where he sought to pick her brain more than anything. This was intimate, and it felt so oddly comforting to be so close to someone like this, just like this place. There’s something so familiar, like something from a dream, or a lifetime ago as silly and forlorn as that sounded in her mind - but who could blame her? She feels the spark from the alcohol that she’s read so much about, and her mind is dizzy for the obtuse, the unbelievable, the impossible.

For some reason, her smile drops a bit when she realizes how odd it seemed for her to be so drawn to him. 

“What is it?” He asks, his eyes narrowing in worry.

“I… I’ve never been with anyone. I’ve never been… had,” she mutters the last part in embarrassment, “I just don’t want to let you-“

Her body seizes up as her self-control returns for a brief moment. He stays quiet, hoping she would finish. When she doesn’t, he becomes rough again, but only briefly. His fingers find the mark he’s given her and presses it as a means to tilt her neck further upward toward him. 

“Emet-“

“Go on,” he urges impatiently.

“I don’t… want to-“

_ Lose you?! Let you down, more like it. I don’t want to let you go…? I don’t want to let you in. _

Her mind was swirling , and he’s reminded of why he should’ve stopped her sooner from indulging earlier.

“My dear, it was hardly two flutes,” he sighs, “Shall we rest until you find your words? I’m sorely interested now, and I hate being left in the dark.”

There’s that sigh again, and she swears it’s disappointment. 

A part of her is grateful, and Aletheia takes the silent moment he’s granted them to look at him. His eyes glow even in the darkness, yellow and then gold, and then as bright as the stars until they return to dullness. Even when he’s not looking at her, she can tell he’s deep in thought, always seemingly caught up in something in the past - this she can tell. What would have been the strangest part of him, the white in his hair, she’s written off completely, for as someone who had grown intimate with her teacher, there were certainly much more bizarre parts of him that others knew little of. His jaw seems loose, but she can tell that it’s likely clenched for his lips never part like hers do. He breathed with certainty, never caught in the crosshairs of surprise or shock, and she wonders if she will grow to be the same with age. Whatever it was, it was clear that he had seen much, and perhaps much more than his appearance would ever give away. Above all else, she could tell he was tired, no matter the time of the day, whether it was their earliest class, or when she thought she had caught him whimsically recalling a piece from memory - he seemed tired. 

“How long have you been so alone?” She asks finally, “Surely, I’m not the first one, and I have long accepted this.”

“No,” he says after a moment of realizing that she wouldn’t exemplify the jealousy that she alluded to, “Certainly not. Yet, I cannot give you a timeframe if that is what you are asking for. Know this - it has been a very, very long time.”

“You’ve had a wife perhaps? Children?”

“Hmph,” he chuckles darkly, “Perhaps in the past, in another life more likely.”

He wasn’t lying. 

“None of it was serious, but that is not to say you are special either.”

He wasn’t lying.

“You just,” he trailed off, sighing and shaking his head at nothing, “are.”

“Am I to help you pass the time?” She asks.

“My, my, all these questions, and you haven’t even answered mine yet. I’d appreciate a fair warning at least before I’m interrogated to your heart’s content.”

She glances away, brows pointed as she thinks about the way he says that. 

“Am I to hope that we can-“

No, not be together.

“-continue associating with one another without you constantly looking back at the past?”

He’s quiet for a moment, staring at her with a relaxed expression, like he has heard it all and not a single thing she might say could ever catch him unprepared. 

“And who would I be without my past?” He asks softly, whisper-quiet, “Would you fancy me all the same? Be intrigued and so enthralled by your professor if he was a man of little accolade?”

Aletheia is quiet, and Emet gives her that moment of silence to breathe, ruminate, whatever she might need to make sense of it all.

“I don’t know,” she smiles finally after a long, uninterrupted silence, “I don’t know much of the unknown. I don’t know who you are not.”

“That you don’t,” he agrees solemnly.

He’s upset her, and it would have been obvious to any passerby. It’s quiet, the kind of silence that feels like the air might be breathing and it’s louder than the breath one would hold in their chest. Red meets gold for the first time since they have stopped, and for a long moment he wonders if she’ll angrily storm off, break whatever lingered of their association, and he’d surrender the final piece of Persephone’s soul to the void, thousands of years obsessive collecting rendered useless all thanks to that cynical ego. 

He grows weary just at the thought, and lucky for him, she makes clear signs whenever she means to speak. Her lips are ajar for a moment, remark clearly ready, and he stops her with his lips. The kiss is brief, but it’s enough to steal whatever she had to say away.

“Aletheia, you would think _ ancient _ beings like me would know what I’m getting into. Realize this,” he says, and he reaches for her hand to hold to his heart, “It matters not to me.” 

“And what does?” She asks, eyes half-lidded as she leans forward, lips hovering over his. She’s grateful that he leans down closer to her, “What matters?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but he’s cut short. An obvious sound of echoing clacks on the floor told them someone was approaching. She’s the first to pull away, face red in embarrassment as she ponders the potential answer to her question. Emet appears to have little shame in the matter, as if he couldn’t care less that someone was approaching. He pulls her flush against his body, allowing her nowhere to escape. 

“The stakes are high, love,” he tells her quickly, “That is all I can tell you for now. There will be another time when you will be grateful I am postponing this monologue.”

The steps become obvious now, and Aletheia makes the attempt to pretend she doesn’t hear it until it becomes too late.

“Good evening,” came the silkiness behind her.

“Elidibus, you’ve come to gander at the wonders of this world,” Emet greets ‘Elidibus’ with cold in his voice.

“That I have, Emet Selch,” he rouses, “Although, I had expected you to come alone as you usually would.”

“There’s a first for everything, my dear colleague,” he juts, “Aletheia, meet Elidibus, professor in whatever he’s professing.”

Aletheia meekly reaches for his hand, half expecting no contact whatsoever. He returns the greeting with a press of his lips to her knuckles, an action that garners daggers from Emet’s eyes, but Aletheia reflexively bobs her head at the gesture.

Elidibus raises a brow, his eyes meeting her red ones for a brief moment, and then he realizes. The slightest ‘ah’ escapes him before he turns to leave them both.

“We will speak later, Emet Selch,” he muses softly, “I leave you and yours to enjoy the rest of Amaurot.” 

The man could barely resist it, and Emet knew he was to expect gratefulness for the push in the _ right _ direction.

“We will, indeed,” Emet replies at the man’s back through gritted teeth.

Aletheia rolled the word around in her mind, and before she could even say it, or inquire further, Emet had himself pressed against her again. This time, an obvious heat lingered near her lower back, something she could not quite pinpoint, but with the way his hands had now reached for the laces again, she could tell he was growing restless to leave.

He tilts her head against his chest, her breath catching in a moan when his lips find the skin behind her ear. 

“Shame,” he murmurs to her, “Quite a shame indeed.”

“W-What is?” 

“All of Igeyhorm’s fine work,” he muses, “All of it on the floor, or wherever else they will end up. I grow tired of this charade, Aletheia. Let us return, the both of us.”

“Return… where?” She asks, breath growing heavier as his fingers trace to the front of her rib, and then upwards to hover over her chest briefly. 

“Wherever I can have you alone. The place matters little to me,” he tells her huskily, “Yours or mine, I could care less.”

He’s close to biting her again, and she gasps when her attempt to pull free from is successful. Aletheia stumbles forward out of his grasp, allowing him to catch her before she falls.

“Yours,” she tells him quickly.

“Good.”

“But, only if you play me the music you promised earlier,” she reminds him.

Her eyes dart from his dangerously golden ones to the grin on his lips. 

“You _ really _ are much too smart for your own good. Very well, I will give you a taste of what you crave,” he agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I’m going to write more  
Pandemic:  
Me:


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the most dangerous game

Emet grants Aletheia a moment before they depart. He finds his fingers so thoroughly intertwined with hers it’s too difficult to pry himself off of her. For a moment, she glances to find his golden eyes searching her wine red ones deeply, searching for something he knows the answer to. 

_ Do you remember? _

“I… I only need a moment,” she promises, pulling at his hands firmly around her waist, “Trust me, I’m tired. I won’t run off.”

“What makes you say such a thing? You think I’m so obsessive I’d hold you back from what you deem necessary?” He asks, a brow cocked so highly.

“Emet, I’m only using the restroom. Are you all right? You seem… tense,” she points out, and once she does, he releases her.

“Go. I’ll be waiting,” he replies without answering.

Aletheia knows better than to continue prodding, and so she retreats from him, the waves of her hair brushing against the sides of her face as she hurries.

He sighs. Eyeing the closest traveling tray of champagne flutes and grabs two. He downs one, hoping that the douse of alcohol will hit him hard before-

“Good evening,” the repeated phrase.

“Elidibus, be a dear and _ fuck _ off,” Emet states, “I said it once nicely.”

“You’ve found her,” Elidibus starts, clearly ignoring his plea, “And she remembers nothing. Could one ask for a more perfect scenario? Stop me if I’m wrong.”

Emet groans, getting enough space from him to throw the empty glass at him. He narrows his brow when he watches Elidibus open a void portal where the glass disappears into nothing. 

“So bold are we to do that in public?” Emet asks airily, “What of it Elidibus? Perfection or not, you know there’s _ much _ she has to learn.”

“... Not going to finish that thought?” Elidibus prods.

“Are our places not switched? I haven’t seen you in eons and you’ve adopted my penchant for unending questioning, I see,” he says, “Frankly, would you not do the same?”

“I’m in no position to. Lest you forget, there’s a heavier matter at hand than completing your beloved for your own personal sake,” Elidibus jabs, “And I thought you bore the heaviest burden of us all.”

“Say what you will. Garlemald’s emperor deserved a much needed rest, wouldn’t you agree? I intended to take it had I thought you lot were half of what I thought capable. Consider this a compromise.”

“Centuries of piecing together shards of your dear warrior after she renders you to the void - ah - supposedly renders? You call our brethren a compromise for that?” 

“You say all this as if you had no intention to stop me after the first shard,” Emet shrugs, “And here we are, fourteen of them later and you aren’t poised to stop me yet. Admit it, Elidibus, you’re curious where this will go.”

“Maybe so. Emet Selch, how very unlike you. Color me disappointed,” Elidibus says airily, “And to be so angry, too. Over what? The final piece?”

He should have frowned the way Elidibus spoke of his beloved - his real beloved - like some item, but he wasn’t. He should have been offended, now that he ruminated on the thought. Aletheia was a part of her, too, and he couldn’t find rhyme or reason to defend her to one of his own.

“Consider it my prize for what it’s worth,” he says instead with a half-smile, and then very casually, “You know how tedious it is, after all - constructing an empire wearing the face of someone else. The poor sod.”

It was Elidibus’ turn to frown at the comment made. He knows very well that he alludes to Garlemald, _ and _ to the fall of it, all under the guise of Solus zos Galvus, no less. Nonetheless, Elidibus cocks a brow in the form of a _ touche, _and waves his hand to mock the man. 

“Garleans,” Elidibus spits out the word, “Perhaps you’ve become more like them than you’ve let on, Emet-Selch.”

_ Emet-Selch _ grins widely with little to retort back. Perhaps, it was the truth. He had donned Solus’ form long enough that the dwellers now would by no means recognize him even with their resources. 

“Don’t you ever grow tired of this?” Elidibus has to ask, sniding vaguely, “Would it not ease us all to simply rest.”

“And what?” Emet scoffs, “We’re not talking about mere centuries, fool.”

Elidibus shrugs.

“It’s a nice thought,” he remarks, “Being free of all this. Think of it, Emet-Selch. Perhaps you might capture your final piece and rest for once.”

“Betray Zodiark, you mean.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” Elidibus chides, “It’s a fanciful thought. One to end all others.”

“Jaded just like the rest of us finally,” he smirks, “Worry not, my ancient soul lives on only to ensure you’re not disappointed. Stop me if you’ve heard all of this.”

He raises his empty glass to the air - one he had seemingly whisked from an attendant while Elidibus pondered his existential form - waving him off. It was clear he had no intentions of turning around to issue a proper farewell. In Elidibus’ mind, he knew better than to think that Emet might usher himself into a phase of acceptance and be sundered from existence, but that was before he saw Aletheia. It’s obvious to him that Emet Selch had grown impatient, finding her within means when she’s the most vulnerable and impressionable. But who was he to argue morals with Hades? He faded into the darkness as Emet wished, hoping for the billionth time that his ultimate goal would be to rejoin everyone after proof of concept. 

———

Aletheia grew more and more indignant and fussy the more she thought about _ Amaurot. _In the car, she decides to turn away from Emet, body outward towards the window as she watched the teal lights disappear from view. She hopes he can read her and give her the space she desires, but she should’ve known better. Even sitting across from her, he could tell something was amiss. 

Elidibus might have been on the mark about his impatience, but one would think Emet-Selch, the Architect, to be the _ most _ patient man around. There was one more mention that Elidibus ensured to insert into his thoughts before leaving.

———

_ Tell me you don’t have further plans past claiming her. _

He had slipped this inquiry when Aletheia returned to his side, eyes wide in curiosity.

_ You would look more the fool than I if you tried to convince me you don’t love her already. _

Emet reached for her neck, thumb caressing the curve of her jaw for a moment before he leaned close to her ear.

“Let’s get you home,” he whispered, and if he spoke any louder, both her and Elidibus might have heard the tremble in his throat.

_ Ah, and so you do. _

———

Aletheia did not respond, allowing Emet to ruminate on the lasting words Elidibus left him. He watches her for a moment freely, her knees pressing close together and one of her hands brushing her arm for comfort. 

“Elidibus pry so much into your mind?” he asks, folding his arms.

She turns her eyes briefly towards him, containing herself before she gets into trouble with her line of questioning. There’s a deep sigh before she averts her eyes again. 

It’s obvious now that she’s cross, and Emet leaves her be. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” she says quietly after a long period of unrest, “I want to go home alone.”

He looks at her, eyes locking for a moment before he turns to their driver and issues the order. Elidibus seemingly got into his head as well - he ruminates how she might have overheard their conversation, or perhaps her sour mood came independent of Elidibus entirely, but the further he delves into whatever possibilities might have endangered his plan, he grew more restless to conquer and assert himself. 

In his long period of existence he knew better than to pry into a woman when she was upset. 

Aletheia snaps out of her thoughts when the car slows to a stop. Recognizing the exterior for her dorm, she prepares to get out of the car. Her eyes dart to watch Emet murmur a few words to the driver, and she quickly gathers herself to exit. It was clear he would give her a proper goodbye at the very least, and she felt at ease enough with the silence in the car to grant him as much. 

He circles around to her, standing a firm few feet away. 

“I won’t pry an answer from you if you do not have one,” he starts to say, tugging off his gloves to assure her that he knows the evening is over, “Whatever could it be that has made your mood so foul?”

Aletheia can hardly look at him, and her feet even in low stiletto heels are finally starting to give. 

“I’m simply too tired to entertain any further,” she says plainly, “I just want to sleep, that’s all.”

“Then you should return quickly. It’s probably the best for the both of us that I’m not seen with you out here anyways,” he agrees. 

Emet arrived at his answer. He would have been a fool otherwise to deny his inevitable curse, and Elidibus was right as he had been before thirteen times over. He crashed and burned, and even if he did it alone, it made Emet crass and clearly heartbroken for centuries until the next shard revealed itself - and then the cycle continued. He knew very much so that he would have fallen in love with her, and perhaps, the reprieve that Elidibus spoke of was what he was granting himself finally. Regrettably, Emet was no longer the man he was in Amaurot. No amount of years alone in an unrecognizable world would grant him the ability to live without the weight of his sacrificed brethren. 

And so, it was true. He was in love with her, a form of her that he had hoped might have still existed if he searched foolishly enough. He had to laugh inwardly, maybe if he were in Elidibus’ place, he might see how exhausting and hopeless he was while he looked at her. She was no Persephone, her dark chestnut hair bore no resemblance to her the silver-white strands, and her features were still so immature and pushing towards innocence. But, who was he to say? Thousands of years had gone by, perhaps he was misremembering Persephone as he reminisced.

Aletheia breaks through his thoughts finally, changing her mind yet again. 

“Then come inside,” she mutters impatiently, “My roommate is gone for the weekend.”

He spares no time to ask if she’s certain, turning quickly to the driver to usher him away. He drives off without another word and Emet turns to look at her, searching for certainty. Aletheia’s face is unreadable as she clutches her coat in her arms, but even so, she seems much more at ease now that the two of them are alone. Without another beat, she wrestles her keys out of her clutch and walks to the door. It takes her a long moment to find the keyhole, a gesture that makes Emet cock a brow. 

“I know better than to do this out here,” he says lowly, pressing the front of his body against hers as she struggles for the door, “But I need to know you are certain about inviting me inside.”

“It’s fine,” she repeats before getting cut off, his hand gripping her wrist so that she can stop finagling with the door.

“Let me repeat that in a way you might understand,” he growls against her ear, “You invite me into your home and I expect no more games. I am playing a far more dangerous one, and I don’t need to remind you of that. It’ll try my patience not to be able to touch you, but I know better than to do that without your permission. So let me hear it once and for all that you know what you’re doing.”

She doesn’t answer, and that’s all he needed to know to affirm that she was playing this all by ear. He presses himself closer, her body was so clearly on fire and she nearly leapt when his hand was pressed to her waist so dangerously gentle, and then a deeper and hotter heat waited by her lower back and she’d be a fool to feign ignorance as to what that meant.

“I know what I’m doing,” she hisses, gripping onto the handle of the door.

“Very well. Then I expect you’ll have no problem putting into words what your expectations are once we’re inside.”

To her surprise, the door opens, and not with another turn of her key, but it simply eased in out of its place and she stumbled inside. She doesn’t dare to turn back and look, but she can hear Emet closing and locking the door for her as if he lived here.

“All right, my dear. Let’s get you undressed and ready for bed.” 

“...Bed?!” 

“Don’t think I didn’t see you chance the champagne before we left,” he smirked, heat rising to her cheeks as he spoke, “Any inexperienced boy would know without a doubt that you’re drunk.”

“Hardly,” she manages to whisper, “But I’m not ready for bed quite yet.”

“A bath then,” he suggests.

“... Maybe.”

“You’re not even in the right mind to decide for yourself,” he sighs ruefully, and he begins tugging off his tailored suit. 

She swallows, watching the silver cufflinks drop onto the counter of her shared kitchen. He hangs the jacket onto the closest chair he finds, paying no mind to what its use was for, and then he reaches for the buttons on his vest.

“What are you doing?” She asks, voice a pitch too high to hide her panic.

“Undressing. I suggest you do the same. If you aren’t inclined to a bath, then perhaps you will if I insist to join you,” he muses, part of his mouth pulled into a growing smile.

She’s trembling, and it’s clear to the both of them she doesn’t know what she wants. Maybe she would let him decide for her, but she’s frozen in place, eyes glued to the slow reveal of his pale skin under the crisp white shirt beneath the vest. Before long, that was hung alongside his jacket and Aletheia knew she was running out of time. 

She kicked off the heels, walking past him briskly down the short hall to her room. He’s surprised to find that the door doesn’t have a lock. So, a housemate that she trusts then. He follows her, picking up the pieces of his getup along with him. 

Aletheia doesn’t turn to look at him when she starts to undress. She can only hope that he’s not watching her, but she makes it clear that the task is at least orchestrated in some way. She pulls at the bottom velvet strings at the base of her dress, and horror rises to the pit of her stomach. Even when untied, she would require some form of help. As if anticipating this, Emet had pushed her hands away and began to undo the ties for her. She swallowed, recognizing the strength and gentleness in the way that he loosened the ties for her could be nothing but experience with other women. She wasn’t the jealous type, but she felt unease and insecurity suddenly at the potential thought. 

She expected him to let her finish the rest once she was able to, but instead, he stops and presses his lips against the back of her neck. 

“She knew I’d unwrap you later,” he muses quietly, “Igeyhorm, that is. Tell me, my dear, did you play a part in this?” 

He tugs at the lace that’s revealed itself beneath her dress, allowing it to snap back onto her skin lightly. Aletheia nearly jumps.

“I don’t know-“

“Strip.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t planned to. The dress pooled to her feet, and she suddenly felt more naked than ever. Emet lets his eyes wander over her figure, resting briefly on the unmarked skin, and then to the matching black lace around her hips. Her eyes search for anything in her bare room to rest her eyes on, anything but those golden orbs that seemed to bore into her. The liquid in her system was finally catching up, and under the dim lighting in her room, she grew dizzier by the second. He caught her chin between his fingers, tilting her face to look at him, only him. 

“I can’t, I’ve never-“ she trembles, and she feels smaller than ever, “You know this.”

He presses his lips to her to capture the tremor in her voice before she could overthink yet again.

“I have no intention of whatever your mind is wandering to,” he reassures her, his voice gentle and quiet, too quiet. 

“You won’t?” Her voice is just as quiet, and Emet feels the ache in his core grow twofold at the mere innocence of her question.

“Not unless you want me to, my dear,” he promises, pressing his lips to her temple, “A bath then, as _ you _ promised me. I don’t have to join you either, if that is what you prefer.”

She looks away, even with her face cupped in his hands. 

“There’s not enough space for the two of us,” she admits in embarrassment, “Dorms.”

“Regretting your decision yet?” He smirks, “My bath would have had more than enough room for the two of us, and then some.”

He releases her, and makes his way to her private bath, and as she ensured him, it was certainly too small for the both of them. He turns the water on, heating it up without a second thought, like second nature. But, Aletheia takes her time peeling off the supposed gift that Igeyhorm had left the both of them and folding the lingerie neatly into a pile with the velvet dress. Quickly, she wraps herself in a towel and follows him into the bathroom. 

Her mouth was ajar for a moment, and he seemed to have caught her surprise as he waited for her on the edge of the tub.

“What is it?” He asks, rolling up the sleeve on his other arm.

“I.. Nothing,” she says, grimacing slightly, “The water’s hot?”

He reaches into the tub to show her, as if the rising steam wasn’t proof enough, and he smirks at her when she realizes. Emet’s gentle when he reaches for the hand clutching the towel around her body. It takes her a moment before she relents, and he tosses it to the counter. 

“Get in, Aletheia. Before I’m forced to take back my promise,” he chuckles lowly. 

She doesn’t give much thought to what that could mean before she descends, scooting her knees up to her chest. Emet grasps the waves of her hair at the base of her neck and swiftly ties it with some hair tie he manifested out of nowhere. Aletheia tried not to think about it - he had access to her bathroom while she was undressing after all - and slowly she closed her eyes and let the warmth overcome her.

“You’re very good at this,” she murmurs, face resting on her knees.

“Taking care of my drunk student on a school evening when I ought to be finishing reading your essays, yes.” 

“Mmm. Not just that. All the little things in between, too,” she says slowly, her wet hand reaching for his wrist, “How you know to tie up my hair like that, untying the strings on my dress. You must have done that for many women in the past.”

“In the past,” he repeats, and then confirms her observation further when he reached for the jar of body wash in the corner, “I have not had anyone in a long, long time.”

“You’ve certainly maintained the experience,” she laughs shortly, “Do I sound jealous?” 

“You tell me, my dear,” he replies wistfully, “Raise.”

She lifted her arm up to him and he began to lather the soap onto her. Emet was surely putting Solus’ body to use. The Garlean emperor, first of his name, a member of the Convocation, Emet-Selch, the Architect, no less, was playing the role of the servant. Elidibus would be rolling in his grave if he had one. This went on for a moment, the water running quelled their independent thoughts and Emet felt both tranquil and at ease ruminating while moving from one limb to the next. All the while, Aletheia flushed red in the midst of the heat, and she watched his narrowed brows focus on the task at hand. 

“You didn’t play more music for me like you had promised,” she reminded him, her mouth in the slightest pout when he turned to her.

“Any requests?” he asked, raising a brow at her. 

She played along.

“...Something in G minor,” she mused.

“Very well. Next time-”

“A nocturne,” she said.

“... Nocturne in G minor,” he promised, his fingers tracing her neck. 

She leaned in close, nose brushing against his cheek ever so. 

“You really are too good at this,” she laughed softly.

“You haven’t seen the rest of me,” he teased. 

“Will I want to?” she asked impishly.

“You tell me,” he repeats, “You expect me to stay, don’t you? This was all part of your plan. Trap me here in your place with nowhere for me to run and hide.”

“And why would you need to run and hide?” she frowned.

He grabbed her hand, and she resisted for a moment hoping he’d realize she was soaking wet still. But, he could care less, and he brought her close to his chest, and then lower, and then to the heat that competed with the warmth of her hand. 

“I promised I wouldn’t, but it certainly tries my patience,” he warns, voice dangerous and husky, “You expect me to lay in bed with you and then to leave without anything to show for it.”

“You wouldn’t lay with me last time,” she pointed out, blushing madly.

“I’m afraid one cannot happen without the _ other,” _ he sighs, “Allow me to put you to bed and show myself out.”

“You’re quite literally giving me no choice,” she says indignantly, wrestling her fingers to the buttons on his shirt. 

“I’m supposed to have you wrapped around my finger, not the other way around,” he vexed.

“You sound like a man that’s been hurt too many times, and you look to repay the favor to anyone who might bend over for you,” she grits, and then very quietly, “Is that what I am?” 

_ You’re anything but. _

“No,” he sighed, “And now I’ll spend the rest of the night proving otherwise. Let’s dry you off.”

Before he could rise from the edge, Aletheia grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him forward to her, water splashing at the force she had to emit to pull someone of his stature towards her. Her lips crashed onto his, and she found the courage to run her fingers up the back of his neck and into his undercut - something she daydreamed about constantly in class. It took Emet little effort to kiss her back, his teeth biting gently into her bottom lip to open up for him. She gasped quietly, and then louder when his fingers found the taut nipple on her breast. 

“Very well, my dear. I’ll give you a taste of the violence you seek,” he growled, and then his fingers dipped between her legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ummmmm lol


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a chase to end all time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished 5.3 today and went through all the stages of grief. This is the “coping” part.

“How is he?” 

“Need you ask me that? You know the answer to that.”

“We need not worry about him now after all this time.” 

“We thought the same and then his precious heroine manifested, did she not?”

“...”

“Well, better he’s entertained than bored.”

“Might we consider what Emet-Selch is capable of that we are not? Do we truly require his influence much longer to rebuild our star?”

“It would behoove us to keep careful watch on him, would it not?”

“...”

“Elidibus?”

“...”

“...”

———

Before there was even time for Aletheia to protest, Emet had his iron grip spreading her thighs apart and his fingers prodding her clit in circles. She gasped into his mouth, struggling between attempts at curses and proclamations of his name, rolling the possibilities on her tongue as she struggled to focus. When she finally spoke-

“Please,” she murmurs on his lips, “Emet.”

Something rumbles quietly in his throat, and she swears it’s bound to be something filthy given how tightly he grips her flesh. He assists her with the buttons, giving her shaky hands the freedom to roam his broad chest. Her eyes never leave his lips, whining quietly when the exposed skin on his body starts to unravel before her. He hasn’t forgotten the ache between her legs, and before she can beg once more, he enters her swiftly with one finger.

He laughs softly against her mouth, making it clear to her that he knows something she doesn’t. With her head buzzing, loins on fire, she knew not whether to lean into his touch or sink deeper against the porcelain of the tub. Caught between the depth of the hot water and the prods of his fingertips inside of her, she knew it would not be long before he stopped. This was his game, after all.

“You were so against that just moments ago,” he teases quietly, lips curling upward as she thrusts herself onto him, “Say it again, tell me you want me,  _ need _ me. Go on. It’ll be our secret.”

She hesitates, obviously, drowning in the sensation between her legs, and the lips on her own, and then her neck. When she elects to start pulling away, his free hand clutches her by the back of her head, and she knows there’s no escape. 

“Please,” she wavers, lips trembling for a brief moment out of fear of the moment ending, “don’t stop.”

He doesn’t, too amused by her reactions and the sway he has over her. A little longer and he feels her buck into his hand, convulsing ever so slightly at first, and then the feeling growing, compounding. Whatever’s left of his dress shirt sticks to his arms, his chest, and he’s practically half in the bathtub with her. Aletheia snares him between her arms, clutching him for dear life as he thrusts his fingers deep inside of her curling and whatever magicks he must have been employing. 

“More,” she begs, “I… Just… need more.”

“More,  _ what, _ my dear? Be specific,” Emet grins, lips near her ear now, “Tell me what more do you want? Or… do you no longer have want of me now that you’re so close? Ah, so close.”

She forgets her request when her body succumbs, heat growing too unbearably near. As if sensing this, Emet curls his fingers into her, clutching her close to his shoulder as she climaxes. Her body convulsed, her lips sought his out and moaned all that she could to stop her from yelling out incoherent thoughts. 

“Your walls are thin, Aletheia, do try to keep quiet, hm?”

She whined quietly at the statement, muttering something inconsequential in return.

“My dear, you didn’t strike me as the type to want it anywhere except the bedroom,” he teases, thumb brushing against her swollen lips, “I promised to get you clean, not the other way around. Yet, here we are, and you’ve obliged me to join you in your mess.”

She sucks in her breath, eyes averting away from him entirely. With a blink, he’s pulling her up to her feet and enveloping her with the towel. Emet can’t help but laugh inwardly at how indignant she’s suddenly become, her cheeks flushed red and her body closed off from his neglect. 

He’s quiet as he dries her off, and she’s certain he has full intent to brush his fingers just a little too closely to her ache. Perhaps he had planned to linger longer than intended when he was drying her breasts, brushing over one of her taut nipples to reward himself with a gasp. His seduction proved to be even more intoxicating and painful than the champagne she had, driving her insane and antsy. 

Aletheia swallows when he’s finished drying her off and peers from the corner of her eye as he goes to remove his shirt. It looked so uncomfortable on him, sticking to the curves of his hips, the muscles on his stomach. She finds herself gaping, and she knows exactly what she wants now. Taking the towel from her arms, he dries himself off just as slow and impishly. 

There’s a moment of reprieve, and then her eyes meet his before she glances away shyly. He pins her to the wall behind her, and she’d be a fool to think that he didn’t want her then. Even with her limited knowledge, it was clear he was ridiculously hard, and the heat in his pants proved that he had neglected it for far too long.

“No more games,” he mumbles against her lips, thumb brushing along her jaw to enunciate, “You invited me in for a reason, and I expect you will tell me.”

She frowns. 

“You mean to… have me,” she states softly, “To be my first.”

“If you wish,” he smirks, “I am not opposed to it, and this you must know even from my tepid nature. Lest, of course, I’ve already done enough.”

She could hardly meet his gaze at the mention of that. It was clear she wasn’t ready - not with the anguish and confusion that he left in his wake with every caress of her skin, and every word he laced with dangerous curiosity. Aletheia was not the kind to stick it with the pointy end, and she knew better than to endlessly question. But then, what was left? 

“... I’d like to return the favor, if I am allowed to.”

“Favor?” He prods curiously, “Do go on.”

Her hands rest on his for a moment, brushing along the length of his forearms, and then further down. 

“I am not so naive as to believe that something like this does not go both ways. And eye for an eye,” she struggles to say, red gleaming over gold, and then away, “Though I would have you teach me. That is the only caveat to this favor.”

“Ahh,” he drawls, “And here I thought I was the master of weaving words. Dare I ask you to say what you have in store for me.”

She leads him to her bedroom, clutching onto the towel between the two of them like they hadn’t just shared something so deeply intimate that such fabric would hide her from him still. She throws herself upon him, pressing Emet to the edge of her bed before pressing her naked form to him. 

“I would have liked to indulge in more of that champagne if you hadn’t deterred me so sharply earlier,” she admitted lowly, “I’m running low on that courage right about now.”

“Do I come off like this is my first time in the ring?” he mused, “Or should I make it painfully clear how many times I  _ have  _ done this?”

“Painfully,” she repeats, her fingers tracing his lips, allowing him to press a gentle kiss to them before she drags it down her body as if wishing his lips upon her. Her eyes never left his.

_ Oh, she knows what she’s doing. The minx. _

“I wouldn’t know where to start, on the contrary,” she whispers, “after all, I am  _ so _ naive.”

“Just so.”

Her hips bucked into his clothed erection. Emet knew better than to groan at the sensation, but he was no liar. It had been a very, very long time since he had partook in any intimacy with anyone. The last shard of her that he would entertain, to be exact.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he’s coercing softly, “The way you accepted just my fingers told me all the tales I needed to know.”

“This is me seducing you, not the other way around,” she seethed in embarrassment.

“It doesn’t have to be now, either,” he continued with a low chuckle.

Aletheia grew restless at the words that made her squirm, and she opted to do what she had learned from watching him. She dragged the flat of her tongue down the fabric of his pants, and Emet was ecstatic. 

“Oh,  _ that  _ kind of favor.”

In one swift motion, he revealed himself to her, his erection finally springing free and aching for attention. 

“Now do it properly,” he hissed.

She grew hesitant now, but descended before she could fight the urge to quell any of it. She lapped at the tip curiously, witnessing his own liquid desire manifesting out of his erection.

Emet allowed himself to close his eyes for the briefest moment, lulling in the sensation of her tongue around him, albeit inexperienced as she were.

The waves of her hair brushing along his thigh, and her velvet tongue coating him all the while, perhaps he could grow used to this. The motions were too slow, but he allowed her a pace that she was confident in before pushing for more. What he didn’t expect was Aletheia’s small whines in her throat as she descended further down his shaft.

“Don’t overextend, love,” he roused, “I have yet to make use of you properly.”

As if anticipating it, his words did nothing but ignite her further. In her mind, she was enjoying the thought of him becoming putty like she had before. Soon enough, she looked up to see his hands struggling to reach for her head, holding back as if his intention were not to hurt her. Aletheia couldn’t help but grin at the notion, and she came up for air.

“You might find I’m more of use if you tell me what you like,” she said, tongue lapping at the shaft while her red eyes drank up the sight of him under her spell.

“You’re doing just as well without my guidance, I assure you.”

Emet wasn’t one to stutter, but she swore there was a quiver in his throat when she descended once more. Soon, she gained the confidence to speed up, breathing through her nose as she engorged herself on him hungrily. The waver in his moans and the white bangs strewn over her eyes were more than enough of a reward for Aletheia - a secret of her own. For the shortest moments, his brows would furrow deeply and a look of thorough lust engulfed his face when her mouth reached the base of his cock. She sought his praises, the rarity of his gasps when she sucked on the tip on occasion, and she felt the flutter of her own desire come again. 

“Emet,” she begged softly, knowing not what to ask, only wanting to say his name for good measure, and she dropped to the base once more.

“My dear, you are doing most admirably, I swear it,” he coaxed her, voice low and laced with desire.

At the last moment when she could feel his cock seize in her mouth, he grabbed the nape of her neck and he popped out of her mouth. As if anticipating this, Aletheia reached for him, allowing him to spill over her hand and onto his stomach. The pearl white of his essence was something she’d never seen before, and she decided it was proof that he’d come undone. There was no denying it. Her lips trembled briefly while she leveled her breathing, but Emet could sense a form of galvanization in her gaze. 

“How was it, Professor?” 

Just like that, the bubble of their intimacy popped, and he was no longer Hades with his sundered shard of Persephone. He was Professor Emet Selch, and she was Aletheia, one of his hundreds of students who bore a reflection of his beloved. Her shy smile slowly slipped from her face when he didn’t respond in a timely manner.

“Aletheia.”

Her eyes darted back and forth between the gold of his own, searching for the question before he could mutter it. The last that she remembered was his lips upon hers and a rain like fire.

———

Aletheia’s eyes were heavy, symptoms of a heavy, undisturbed sleep. This time, the rise and fall of someone else’s heartbeat rested underneath hers. When she came to, she realized Emet had fulfilled his promise to her and stayed the night, allowing her full reign to hold him as she so sorely craved. 

He didn’t say anything, his own tired eyes meeting hers for a moment before closing again. The quiet of the morning gave them both a sense of reprieve, like there was no rush to discuss the night before. Aletheia took her own liberties to explore the marks on his skin that she left him - nail marks on his chest, a budding love bite on his shoulder from when he made her come. 

“You have a penchant for holding on and not letting go. It would have been an easy feat for me to sneak away, but the consequences made things more difficult,” he mused softly into her hair.

“I’m a heavy sleeper,” she whispered against him.

The twinkle of the notes on his piano told him otherwise, and hope stirred in his chest as he recalled his surprise when she approached him then. 

“And I didn’t want you to leave,” she added. 

“You didn’t need to tell me as much,” he told her.

She sighed, tracing circles into his skin, knowing full well that in a few hours, this would all be a dream. Her heart felt stings of relief and bitterness. What was all of this? Why did it hurt, as if she had lost something so long ago and forgotten all the same - further cementing how much she had certainly forgotten. 

Aletheia knew better than to ask, and in her limited worldliness there was solace in cutting her losses and taking what Emet doing in her bed with her would consequently mean. But this was too close, too intimate, too familiar. 

But she knew better than to ask such naive, stupid things like-

“I feel like I’ve known you all my life, and I know I’m revealing my naivety with every word that I speak,” she confesses, “and that it may ultimately lead you to leave.”

“You operate on a feeling?” 

“On comfort, maybe,” she bit the inside of her cheek as she spoke, “Like this was something I’ve been seeking all along and never knew.”

“Surrender and I might make it all you’ll know,” he relishes.

“Mmm, and it might behoove me to not reveal how much I’d like that,” she smiles to herself, “I shouldn’t know such things like this. I don’t-“

“Deserve it.”

A deathly silence grew with only their breathing to entertain the room. 

“If I haven’t said this before, I’ll say it now - I would never lie to you. Use this knowledge as you see fit,” he tells her.

Aletheia felt a pang of sadness in her stomach, something lifeless and unfamiliar, but she knew it to be uncomfortable to confront. She wanted this to go on, and she wanted Emet to admit to the same. She kept quiet instead of satiating the itch.

_ It doesn’t have to be anything. I will simply take what I get, and the next year he will have another. A needle in the dark. _

She exhaled and pushed off of him, scooting off the bed in preparation for the day.

“I haven’t started on your class’s paper,” she said sheepishly, “Perhaps I ought to. Amongst other things.”

“Perhaps. Is this your way of showing me out?”

“Yes.”

“Very well, my dear. Give me a moment in your washroom.”

He retreated, and the pang in her stomach grew and traveled to her heart. She trembled at the thought of him leaving, and it troubled her more than anything. There was nothing between them, and Aletheia repeated this like some prayer in her head. 

She clutched to her robe, fixating her facial features to ensure she wouldn’t give off any of her worries. It wasn’t their first time together, but it certainly could be their last. It was dangerous to pursue something like this, and no amount of kisses or loving words would soothe the uncertainty. She thought about his fingers on the piano.

Emet returned in little time, his clothing from the night before either on his body or tucked neatly under his arm. Aletheia caught a glimpse of his phone and knew his driver would be outside to receive him faster than she can utter her goodbyes. 

She would make it brief.

She ensured her arms weren’t folded or hugging herself, and she practically plastered a fake smile across her face. But he knew her distress more than she could even let on, as if she wrote the turmoil out for him to read. 

“Amaurot…,” she finally spoke, “It was lovely. I appreciate all that you did to allow me to see it in that way.”

“You’re awful at goodbyes.”  _ Always have been.  _

“Right.. Just goodbye, then,” she said sharply.

She followed him on the brief walk to the door, suddenly very conscious about the mess in the shared space now that she wasn’t inebriated. The glimpse of the black car outside told her all she needed to know to confirm her worries. 

_ See you in class? When will I see you again, will I see you again?  _

Before she could shut him out one last time, Emet pulled a manuscript through the rift. Perhaps she’d know how impossible that was to do with aether, but something more pressing was written across the front of the papers that caught her attention. 

“Concerto… in G minor. I won’t even ask how any part of this is possible,” she said slowly, “The aether-“

“You’d do well to learn your part. It’s for four hands after all,” he pointed at the front, “Choose your part at your own discretion. It matters not to me.”

“Emet-“

He pressed his lips to her forehead - one that insinuated a promise - and then to her cheek. 

“Until we meet again,” he tells her, golden eyes twinkling gently, “do you promise?”

She opens her mouth to say something, and he’s captured her lips before she can.

“Until we meet again, Persephone. Learn your part well.”

With a wave of his hand, Emet retreats outside and disappears into the dark vehicle parked along the side of her apartment. 

  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

The notes on the manuscript ravaged her thoughts the rest of the day. Needless to say, even if she was lying, the supposed essay that Aletheia insinuated needed writing was forgotten altogether. Like some walking dream, she found herself attuned to the notes, how they might have flowed when played in conjunction with the bars below it - the part for the other pair of hands. Emet’s hands. 

Where one part lifted, full of rests, the other bars were filled with notes, and when played together, she felt as though nothing made more sense. A song he wrote just for the two of them, she liked to think. Suddenly, her heart, spreading to her ribs and then through her arms and legs, was swallowed by a warmth so familiar she couldn’t even find the words to place it. She held the manuscript to her chest, and then sought to escape her apartment where she would hear this music come to life once and for all.

———

“I don’t believe I owe you a reminder, but.”

Emet glanced up from the papers briefly, gold brushing against ebony. He tossed the heavy embossed frames perched on his nose into the pile on his desk, and rubbed his temples.

“But?” He motioned airily, waiting for Elidibus to finish his passing thought.

“I ought to think at some point you have the mind to make a vessel of her.”

“Maybe.”

“Ah, a man of little words all of a sudden?” Elidibus turned to face him. 

“I have a mind to keep conversation with you brief,” he sighed in turn.

“A few centuries and the tables have turned, have they?” 

“Let’s keep it brief. Whether or not she becomes a vessel is my business alone.”

“Another Ascian might join our ranks, and it stays just your business, Emet-Selch?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

There was silence for the first time. Even as they stared at one another, Elidibus in gripes with what Emet might have been insinuating, time would not yield. 

“Not an Ascian then. Just some plaything until you remember your duty to Zodiark then.” 

“Nonsense,” he chuckled lightly, “Tell me a time when the 14th has ever been privy to the Convocation and our goals? Making her a vessel would not serve us any better than if she were to stay a mortal until her dying breath.”

“Speak plainly,  _ Ascian.” _

“She is not vital to our goal, and worth none of your worries.”

“...”

“Until our day comes.”

  
  


———

  
  


Whether or not Elidibus’ words conjured worry or concern, Emet was displeased by the encounter all the same. Even if their concern was fair, there was a certain part of him that felt that his intentions were best left alone. Even prior to this, as the emperor, as a legatus, as a sorcerer, Emet knew well enough that dispelling an ounce of the truth to anyone was a heavy price to pay in the certain future. 

Essentially, he knew that letting Elidibus in on his plan would be for sure the best way to ruin it, even if it was not in Elidibus’ nature. The vessel that he spoke of laid secret and hidden like collected rainwater. Thirteen times rejoined. It’s why she was special. He told himself this time and time again. 

He knew there were others like this, but their shards had dissipated somewhere across the varying worlds. If he put in an effort to collect them, he might have a recognizable person from Amaurot - a colleague perhaps, but no one that might help usher their goal any more than that of a bystander. 

The loud cough of a student in the back row pulled him out of his inner sermon. He paced back to his desk, glancing at the clock at the top of the lecture hall, and then across the sea of faces. An hour had passed, and not one student had yet to elect to turn in their exam. His eyes entertained to where Aletheia might have likely been sitting, and lo and behold, she was there. Her brows were knitted in intense focus, surely distracted by his pacing, or so he’d like to think. 

Yes, if the thirteen shards he kept tucked away might reconvene with her final one-

Her eyes glanced up, feeling some stare of intensity boring her way. Her pupils widened quickly, and the fear of her teacher likely thinking she was up to no good was cause for the blush across her face, if not the fact that their last encounter was him retreating from her apartment building after a night of something inexcusable.

She glanced away quickly to write something on her paper, assuring him that she didn’t just lock eyes with him with the intention to check that he hadn’t caught her cheating.

Another hour drudged by, and a myriad of low-grades and high-grades came to drop off their exam at the front of the hall. The blasted stairs made for stomping that announced to the others that time was ticking. Emet watched Aletheia in unabashed fashion, noting that she was struggling as she flipped between the third and fourth page. 

Sooner or later, she came to the front to turn in her exam, defeated by a handful of questions she had no memory of an answer to. She dropped the packet into the pile of others without making eye contact. 

A sharp vein of electricity made the air suddenly heavy. It was as if all her internal organs had all stopped working, and some sort of unfamiliar buzz had entered her brain. Time had stopped.

Emet took his time, standing up in a labored way, he sauntered over to where she had initiated a step onto the stairs out of the hall. He reached for the stray strand across her eyes, and swept it over her ear. Her hand had been clenched - for whatever reason, he laughed inwardly - and it took little effort for him to slip a piece of paper into it. He took his time staring at her, but not too much of it, for he was more than eager for what awaited her once she read the aetherized ink on the paper. Sauntering back to his seat, he snapped his fingers to command the air around him to move again.

Aletheia nearly stumbled, knowing for certain something she could not put words to had happened in the fraction of a second she had begun to walk away from Emet Selch. Her foot found traction on the first step, and as not to bump into her peer in front of her, or cause an accident behind her, she only knew to keep moving forward up the stairs. In short order, she had fled the lecture hall right on time to catch her breath. 

She could have sworn the air in there for the briefest of moments had grown heavy, and practically stopped. There was no doubt that if it had, Emet had a hand in it. Perhaps she could just simply chalk it up to the effect he had on her.  _ What… effect? _

She hadn’t realized her hand had been clenched the entirety of the time she had run away from the proximity and the dreadfulness of that exam, and by the time the thought convinced her, she realized his note in her hand. 

_ Ocular Hall _

_ 19:00 _

She held the note over her chest, and shut her eyes. The manuscript he practically dragged through the aether was, certainly, sandwiched between two books that meant nothing. She knew this place - the hall where he had first kissed her underneath the stage lights where no one existed save for him and her. Secondly, there were posts across all of campus that assured that the masses knew their most astute professor was performing that night.

He wanted her to be there. He wanted her to see him perform. 

Worse, and she could only assume this, he would anticipate that she would join him on stage. Only a proper invitation like this would guarantee that she be prepared to accompany him as she had promised. 

Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest, and Aletheia had only the thought in her mind to run far, far away. Instead, she turned on her heel and headed directly for her professor’s office. 

———

She waited and waited. Professors owed their paying students a portion of their time per semester in their office, so she knew he would show at the very least even if he had intention to avoid or prepare for her. Nearly half an hour had passed since the end of the lecture, and she could narrowly escape the dreaded desire to turn the other direction and avoid the confrontation altogether. As if anticipating this thought, Emet had turned around the corner and made himself known. 

He walked as if his body were not his own, as if he piloted it. It was the first time something like this had crossed her mind, but in that moment where she had nowhere else to go, nowhere else to look, it made sense. She bit her lip invisibly, sucking in her bottom lip before she could spout some nonsensical thing to fill the silence of the hall. There was a quiet clack to his stroll down the hall, like the inevitable confrontation of two foes. 

She opened her mouth to speak as he neared her, and that invisible force of air seemed to envelop her again. The door to his office was unlocked, or so it seemed, and with a twist and shove, Emet had opened it. His gloved hand motioned for her to enter first,  _ by all means,  _ and Aletheia took no time of his or her own to hurry inside. 

The door closed with a heavy thud, and the deafening sound of the locking contraption echoed in her ears. 

“You mean for me to play this,” she motioned to the manuscript in her hand.

Emet took his time, circling around her once before propping himself at the edge of his desk. 

“I simply relayed an invitation to my performance this evening,” he said lightly.

“Perhaps, but by assuring that I attend you’re giving yourself an opportunity to invite me on stage with you.”

“Is there something so wrong with a professor and his dear pupil playing a piece meant for two hands?”

_ Dear pupil. _

“One, an extremely rusty pupil, and two, a pupil he had inadvertently spent more than one night with.”

“The latter is a truth known only between the two of us,” he smirked, arms folded in extreme relaxation.

Sensing the tenseness in her posture, he leaned in closer to her.

“Lest you wish for others to know, then, well, you know I can have that arranged,” he said, grinning wildly, and the brush of his fingers along her waist and then her hips only insinuated more to what he meant.

“Is that what it would take, my dear?” He asked further, “For me to admit that I tire of our secret affair and that nothing would please me more than to make it known that the professor has been bedding his dearest pupil?” 

“It’s impossible,” she relented, her voice growing small in comparison as he inched closer and closer to her lips, her neck.

Emet Selch was bound to be the most seductive man in this plane, she cursed inwardly, it’s always only a matter of time before surrender.

“Not quite,” he murmured, his lips ghosting the length of her neck, “just a few strings here, and a few strings there, and you’ll be in my arms by midnight.”

Her breath hitched, his lips so agonizingly near her ear now.

“I think,” he hums, “you’d quite like it.”

With whatever strength she could muster, she pried him off of her, electricity running up and down her neglected core.

“Enough, Emet Selch,” she struggled to bolster any concept of seriousness, and the utilization of his full name only brought on more of the seductive smolder in his face. 

His warmth left her body, and she was suddenly displeased at the distance between the both of them. 

“I have given you a choice before, have I not? This time is no different. If you wish to dance with me in secret then who am I to dishonor your wish? I simply thought that a crowd would muster up that bravery you always seemed to be in endless supply of.”

“You thought a crowd of some mere thousands would make me play better?” She scoffed.

“Not better, per se,” he had to laugh, “Ah, I forget. I’m the exhibitionist here.”

Her face turned dark red at the insinuation. She had to get out before this  _ man _ might swallow her whole. Emet Selch was bound to be some onze of ridiculousness mixed with… something entirely else.

“I’ll attend. That is all I can promise you,” she said, “The very  _ least _ I will promise you, so expect nothing past that.”

“What an elaborate way of saying ‘maybe,’” he grinned, “And what of the performer? Am I to tell the office to make two possible copies of tonight’s program?”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. The truth was that as lavish as the music program was at the university, the practice rooms were booked out for weeks. Even if she had intentions of practicing her part  _ well  _ enough to perform, the possibility did not exist for undeclared students. Certainly she had read the music and played it enough in her head for a meager performance in front of some unmusical few. 

As much as he was seductive, Emet could be persuasive when he wanted to be - or unintentionally. And however much he seemed to raise her esteem, he took the bar with it. 

“My fumble will ruin your career,” she said under her breath.

“You think so negatively, Aletheia,” he prodded, “Perhaps a reward at the end of this trial will serve as something to look forward to rather than dismay over.”

She cocked a brow at the thought. Even if her grades in his class were mediocre, she wasn’t necessarily prepared to bend over to improve them. 

“What could you possibly entice me with what little you know of me?”

———

Aletheia tugged on the curl at the end of her hair once, then twice, and a little more the curl entirely spring out of place. She stopped, sighing impatiently instead. The stage hands in the back were clamoring to find something to do before the performance. The lights were already set, and the piano had been tuned and angled the way Emet Selch liked. A small crowd of hundreds had already gathered outside of the concert hall given the bustle of chattering. 

With so little preparation, and Emet gone to finish warming up, she had nothing better to do than prepare for the rush of the crowd.

Within moments, the predicament came and groups and groups of middle aged women and young women alike took their seats in the hall. Those accompanied by other men were clearly smitten with the man’s  _ playing _ more than anything, surely. But even so, Aletheia had seen the picture the university had opted to use for advertisement of his performance, and she might have entertained the idea of attending herself if she had not been bribed already. 

He was handsome,  _ so _ handsome the way his eyes met the camera with the slightest secretive smirk and his hands perched on the piano keys like a careful, attentive lover. The same hands that reached for her face, her hands, and everywhere else in secret. Shouldn’t she have felt some blossoming pride at the thought that Emet had asked for _ her _ and no one else? 

Where she aimed to reason this out, and introspect at the concept was completely replaced by the nervousness in her clammy hands and the shakiness in her ankles - would she even be able to press the pedal properly? 

She snapped out of her thoughts when there was a heavy foreboding applause from the crowd behind the curtain. Aletheia nearly gasped when she felt a familiar hand wrap around her waist and pull her backwards. The dreaded pianist wasn’t even out on the stage yet and the crowd was going insane.

“You nearly made me scream!” She muffled a yelp.

Before she could protest or complain, Emet kissed her. He kissed her with all his being, with all of his weight, his lips on hers and his fingers laced around her small body. The announcement came from the chancellor, bellowing his excitement for the esteemed Emet Selch that would soon grace the halls of the concert. It went on longer than usual, or so Aletheia thought, she couldn’t quite think. 

When he pulled away, she was more swept away than ever before, adding to her bundle of nerves in her stomach. 

“For good luck,” he mused, brushing his nose against hers before dropping her gently to her feet.

He slipped through the curtains, leaving her in even more of a mess than before. Something only Emet Selch was capable of. Aletheia stood there for a moment, trying to catch her breath and everything else that was happening in between. Hadn’t someone seen them? No, it was too dark behind the curtains, and even if they had - 

Was this love? Was this the affair that forlorn ladies sought for in boring marriages? It couldn’t have been. She was meant for someone her age, one with decent or mediocre matching grades as her, one with no idea what they would do in the far future. Her mind buzzed, her heart raced, and it happened twofold when Emet Selch came near her for more than a damned second. 

This was love, wasn’t it? Was this it?

A heavy hand tapped her on her shoulder, and when Aletheia turned around she met the eyes of some young woman who stared back with incredulous eyes. She motioned at her, asking when she was planning to go on stage with Emet.

“You are going up there, aren’t you? He needs someone to turn the pages.”

Before she could even think of something to counter, Aletheia had robotically followed the instructions of the girl and strolled on stage as if someone had taken over her body. The clapping had not yet ceased, and she was relieved to know that it wasn’t for her. Emet finished his rounds of bows before taking his spot on the bench. As the girl had said, a spot where two heavy manuscripts sat had been placed carefully next to Emet’s left. 

The light was blinding, and it had been such a long time since Aletheia had performed on a stage with even a quarter of this prestige. From here, she couldn’t see anyone, and whatever stage fright she might have felt from before simmered away. In its wake, her eyes drifted to Emet and he took the briefest moment to glance in return, assuring her that everything would be just fine. 

He took the necessary preparations, allowing her a moment to find the first page of his piece and watched her carefully place it in front of him.

The first note echoed in her, and she swore she would take the memory with her until the very end. To hear him play like this, for a crowd of numerous and to be so close to him was inexplicably what love had to be. 

Half of her was drawn by his hands, and the other focused on where he was so that she was prepared to flip to the next page. There was not a moment where she was bored, and to be frank, it felt as though it might as well have only been the two of them. A world where it was just the two of them. 

It was perfect.

Any ounce of fear she had felt seemed to melt away as time went on, and there was a part of her that she couldn’t deny was certainly enjoying the participation. Even if it was brief, only if it was for a little while, she played a part in all of this and no one would have to know but the two of them. 

Their piece came in no time. Concerto in G minor. Even having no way to hear it other than in her head, it felt like something she had known from before. Perhaps it was just the proximity to it for the last few weeks. 

There was no shudder or surprise when she took center stage with him, the applause louder than ever when he led her to his left. The piece laid in front of them, his hands on the piano, and hers hovering over her section. The first note came, and then another, and soon the twinkle of the familiar song that played in her head for weeks came alive. She knew exactly when she came in, pressing her notes just as gently, her fingers caressed his when her hands overlapped his. In perfect sync, came a song that resonated in the hall. 

She could feel her lips pulling taut, a smile that came without her noticing. The repeat of the melody came, and she felt her arms relaxing to allow her a quick glance into the crowd. Her heart nearly stopped when she spotted some dark figure in the crowd with a peculiarly shaped mask. Suddenly, one in the corner of the concert hall - the same white mask. It seemed as if everyone in the crowd were some copy of this dark robed figure and white mask - surely not the same person over and over again. 

Aletheia couldn’t close her eyes, not when she had promised to give it her all. 

When she returned from that brief interlude, she focused on the music again, swearing it was only the brevity of her imagination. The climax of the piece came and went, Emet pulling much of the weight as the main part of the duet. And just like that, with no misstep he couldn’t cover up, the piece came to an end. The song Emet had pulled from nowhere, written out of nowhere, the song he wrote for her came to an end.

He reached for her hand as the applause erupted, squeezing it as he led her to the front of the stage and bowed. She followed suit shortly after. He gestured towards her and the crowd cheered, whistling came from somewhere deep within the waves of people. The light seemed brighter than ever, and she couldn’t identify even one person as she sought the masks and robes once more. 

Emet caught her by surprise, holding her hand up to his lips and placing a gentle kiss to it for one last bow. 

In the sudden gesture, she gasped and turned to the crowd to ensure that no one was thrown off. Something overtook her completely when she saw them again - people who donned the weighted black robes and conformed to the same white mask cheering for the both of them. No matter how many times she tried to blink them out of sight, they continued cheering and clapping. She thought at one point they were all a vision of the same, but when they began to move out of sync, she knew it was otherwise.

At some point, Emet had disappeared behind the curtains, and the lights began to dim on the stage and light up the crowds. 

Aletheia stood alone, darkness encompassing her slowly and enveloping her. For a moment, when the applause stopped, she might have sworn there was nobody there in the crowd at all as she stared out. Those things she tried so hard to blink out of sight had confirmed their place in her imagination. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, some plot 
> 
> Also, if you’re interested in hearing the piece that’s referenced: https://youtu.be/p-u6BGAvmFY
> 
> I love that it’s arranged for four hands :3c


End file.
